


Veiled Light, A

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Canon - Enhances original, Canon - Fills plot hole(s), Canon - Outstanding AU/reinterpretation, Characters - Good use of minor character(s), Characters - Good villain(s), Characters - New interpretation, Characters - Outstanding OC(s), Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Unusual relationship(s), Characters - Well-handled emotions, Characters - Well-handled romance/eroticism, Drama, Multi-Age, Plot - Bittersweet, Plot - Can't stop reading, Plot - Good pacing, Plot - I reread often, Subjects - Culture(s), Subjects - Legends/Myth/History, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Every word counts, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Good use of humor, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s), Writing - Well-handled dialogue, Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2003-09-17
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:51:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 121,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Maia is sent to Middle-earth in the Second Age and, like the later Istari, finds she must learn to compensate for the shortcomings of a mortal body, the limitations of her lost memory, and her weakness for a fellow Maia who led to her downfall once before. Characters include: Ilmare, Ereinion Gil-galad, Elrond, Annatar Sauron, Cirdan, Celeborn, Thingol, Melian, Celebrimbor, Galadriel, and others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Prologue 

 

Aulë stood before the delicately wrought silver gates feeling very ill at ease, but then he always felt ill at ease when visiting the home of Irmo and Estë. The dim, hushed air of the Gardens of Lórien made him nervous; so different from Aulë’s own home, its rooms alight with fire and bustling with people and animals. An overpowering silence hung in the gardens; most beings in Valinor found peace and rest within its boundaries, but to Aulë the bright light of his spirit seemed harsh and crude amidst the dimly lit paths and pools. The graceful atmosphere made him feel lumbering and awkward and his visits there were few. 

Nevertheless, he had come for a reason, he told himself; he took a deep breath and blew it out quickly before squaring his shoulders and entering the gardens. Once inside the gates the thick, green smell of cedar and pine washed over him in a heavy wave. Aulë studied the carefully planted maze of trees stretching out before him and after a brief deliberation he took the center path leading toward the heart of the garden. 

The steady pace of his legs stirred the mist carpeting the ground. One of the garden's larger pools caught his eye for a moment, but he turned back to the path before him. There was no need to look at the pool; in his mind Aulë carried a clear image. An enormous silver fountain rose from a spreading circle of water and cascading streams spilled down its sides. He knew stars as silver as any in the sky shone in the blue depths of the pool for he had watched Varda herself set them there. He overcame his reservations at times, stealing into the gardens to visit this peaceful fountain where glowworms cast a pale green light as they crawled along the ground. Though tonight not even his beloved pool could ease his apprehension at receiving such an unusual summons. 

Once beyond the pool Aulë passed vast fields of red poppies, stretching out to the east as far as the eye could see. The fumellar they were called, for they brought sleep, and now his destination lay just ahead. The path ended in a garden room formed by a thick border of drooping cypress trees. The evergreen scent hung heavy here in this enclosed space. Aulë’s gaze rested hesitantly on a bed of gleaming opalescent pearls in the far corner where a giant silver cauldron sat in the center, nestled safely among the pearls. 

It had been many years since last he saw that cauldron but his memory of it was still as clear as the day he had forged it. Although now it seemed cold and empty, and so it was; gone was Telperion and gone was the dew the silver Tree had shed, collected each day and brought to this cauldron to be stored. 

Aulë had known she would be here.

On a bench close to the cauldron’s pearly cradle sat a being whose beauty went far beyond mere words. To those who knew her, the canvas of the night sky painted by her hands merely hinted at the overwhelming beauty that was Varda. To stand in her presence always made Aulë feel boorish; to stand before her now in the Gardens of Lórien only served to intensify his awkwardness. 

“I have come, my Queen, as you requested,” he said in a whisper, feeling irreverent in breaking the silence of this place. 

She turned and graced him with a radiant smile, her golden hair grazing the ground as she did. “Thank you for coming, Aulë,” Varda said, gesturing toward the bench. “Please, sit with me.” 

Aulë settled his large form next to her on the bench and waited expectantly for her to tell him why he had been called. Instead she faced the silver cauldron again and studied it mournfully. 

“How I miss the days when this room was lit by the silver dews stored within Silindrin. Do you remember how its pale glow would light the very airs, Aulë?” she asked. Sensing the pangs of loss within him, Varda said, “Of course you do…we all do.” 

“I remember those who tended to the vats of the Trees,” Varda continued to speak softly. “Urwen and her people tended to the golden dews of Kulullin, and Silmo and his people tended to Silindrin. My Ilmarë was one of those who tended to Telperion. She loved the silver Tree with all her heart. Could she have died with it, she would, for her spirit had been broken once before by the loss of something she loved beyond all measure.” 

“Yes...I remember it well,” Aulë said, bowing his head sorrowfully to stare at the glittering vapors covering the ground, swirling in a thick mist around their feet. 

“I know you do not care for small talk, Aulë, and so I will come directly to the point,” Varda said suddenly. “I am in need of your help.” 

Aulë looked up in surprise. “My help, Varda? For what reason?” 

“You must help me appeal to your brother. Please, help me convince Manwë to allow Ilmarë to go in Melian’s place. I have tried, but I cannot convince him alone.” 

Aulë hesitated before answering. “But it has already been decided to send Melian. Of all the Maiar, she holds the most knowledge of Middle-earth and its peoples. Ilmarë does not have the experience needed for this task; she has no experience with those lands as they are now and she has had no dealings with its people.” 

“Yet she has had a great deal of experience in Númenor,” Varda said in a reasoning tone, “and she has had dealings with its people.” 

“Melian does not wish to return to Middle-earth,” Varda said when Aulë remained silent, “and in all honesty, no blame should be laid upon her for that decision. Those lands hold nothing but unhappy memories for Melian, and Ilmarë knows this. She has asked to take her friend’s place yet Manwë will not agree. You are well aware of how he dotes on her.” 

“And what is my involvement in this?” 

“Her going may benefit you, as well.” Varda paused briefly, then said, “Ilmarë’s heart was not the only one broken by his departure. Would you not have him return to Valinor, if you could?” 

Aulë’s eyes widened and he sucked in a sharp breath. “You know where he is? Has he at last chosen to accept the pardon offered to him?” 

“No, in answer to both your questions. I am sorry, Aulë,” she added when she saw his look of disappointment. “But if we send Ilmarë to Middle-earth, sooner or later he will sense her presence there.” 

Varda laid her hand across Aulë’s and spoke softly. “There are a few among the Valar who believe the darkness stirring in the lands of Middle-earth is his spirit, but there are more of us who know it is something far more powerful. Some good still resides within him. If it can be reached, she is the only one who has any hope of doing so. You know this as well as I.” 

“But, what if…” he hesitated, “…what if she chooses to stay at his side this time? I have no doubt he will offer it to her again.”

“And I have no doubt she would refuse him again,” Varda said with conviction. “Ilmarë would not betray what she believes in, regardless of how much she loves him.” 

She sighed and said, “It had been decided that Melian would have her knowledge of Aman and most of her powers hidden from her to prevent any interference. Ilmarë will be sent in the same fashion. Her memories will not influence her for she will not have them. His memory of her is what will be important, for it is that which will sway him. Perhaps he will feel another chance has been given to him because she will not remember the unhappiness between them.” 

“And if her presence does not affect him or he seeks only to use her in some selfish way, it will be of little use to him,” Varda said. “Ilmarë will also travel in a mortal form, and that in itself will lessen any powers she has. Rušurayan will gain nothing if he convinces her to stay.” 

Aulë winced at the mention of the name and lowered his head once more. After a few silent moments, he said, “I blame myself for his decision to leave. I should have listened to his ideas and appreciated his love to create, but I worried for him. His power was far greater than that of the other Maiar, as were his skills. I feared he would become proud and fall prey to the vain desire to create for himself instead of creating for the good of others.”

He paused and shook his head. “I thought to teach him obedience and humility, but those are not qualities which can be taught. Learned, yes, but not taught. That lesson we must each learn in our own way. In the end, the weight of my fear became too much for him. He fled, seeking freedom from the controls I placed upon him even though I meant them only for his own good.” 

Varda patted his hand beneath hers reassuringly. Though Aulë had never spoken of it, all in Valinor knew he carried unnecessary guilt for this and many other things. She said, “Rušurayan made his own choice, Aulë; you are not to blame. He was already being led astray and listening to the temptations offered, else he would have seen the love in your actions. He abandoned all the love so generously given to him when he left Valinor.” 

Aulë let out a heavy sigh, revealing the long years he had harbored his regrets. “Do you not fear for Ilmarë? Do you not fear you will lose her as I did Rušurayan?” His tongue stumbled over the name for it had been so many years since he last spoke it. 

Varda’s eyes misted over and she remained silent for some time. Finally, she said, “I have watched Ilmarë suffer these many years, despite any measure I took to ease her pain. Though her grief consumes her she allows few of us to see it. She will never be free until he returns to Valinor or she knows beyond any doubt that he is beyond redemption. I do not fear for her if she goes, Aulë; I fear for her if she stays. Her life cannot continue like this. Perhaps she will find something in Middle-earth to soothe her unhappiness, for she has not found it here in Valinor.” 

Aulë stared at the cauldron of Silindrin and thought of how it reminded him of Ilmarë in recent years, empty and dimmed. Now he wondered if Rušurayan fared the same wherever he was in those mortal lands: cold and empty…and suffering alone. 

He stood suddenly and took Varda’s hand, helping her to stand. She looked up at Aulë questioningly as he smiled at her.

“Come, my Queen, I have the sudden desire to scale the height of Taniquetil. There are things I wish to discuss with my brother.” 

His words earned a bright smile from Varda. In her happiness the dazzling light from her spirit lit the garden of Lórien. She quickly cloaked it, however, lest she be forced to listen to a reprimand from Irmo for disturbing his dim sanctuary. 

“Then, by all means, allow me to accompany you,” she said, her bright smile never faltering as Aulë led her out of the gardens. 

 

~*~ 

 

NOTES: 

Rušurayan: Valarin – Basically means Ainur of fire. Sorry, not enough Valarin to get real creative with. Valarin was the original language of the Valar (I know - thank you, Captain Obvious). 

All the descriptions of Lórien are based on info in Book of Lost Tales 1. 

Kulullin - The cauldron that held the dews shed by the Golden Tree, Laurelin. It was tended by Urwen, an earlier name for Arien, the Maia who carried the sun (the last fruit Laurelin bore before it died). 

Silindrin - The cauldron that held the dews shed by the Silver Tree, Telperion. This tree was tended by Silmo, later known as Isil, who carried the Moon, or the last flower of Telperion before it died. 

Varda and Manwë are the king and queen of the Valar and their dwelling is on Taniquetil, the highest mountain in Valinor. Aulë is a Valar, a smith and craftsman and is in charge of the materials Arda is made of. Irmo and Estë are Valar also, and the Gardens of Lórien was their home where the beings in Valinor came for rest and healing.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

She opened her eyes and saw nothing, only darkness. As she looked for some sign of where she was, the sensation of movement filtered in yet it took a moment to understand what it was: a gentle swaying, side to side… slow and rhythmic. A faint sound followed, like distant wind yet fuller and oddly soothing, layered with a light, dry creaking. The sounds combined with the soft rocking movement gave her a strange sense of calm. An indistinct light appeared in her vision, gradually growing clearer with each passing moment. 

Moonlight poured in through a hole cut in the smooth surface running next to her, faintly illuminating her surroundings. _A window,_ she corrected herself as the words came to her in wisps of consciousness, _it is a window…and that is a wall._ She pulled herself up to sit and noticed how heavy and languorous her body felt, not light and free as before. _Before…_ she frowned as she searched her thoughts, _before what?_

The leaden feeling extended to her mind as well. A fog settled around her thoughts and, try as she might, she could remember nothing previous to opening her eyes. Slowly, she slid to the end of what her senses unthinkingly recognized as a bed. She carefully placed her feet on the smooth surface of the polished wooden floor, but her body faltered with the effort of pushing herself to stand. After a few wavering attempts, she stood upright in the pale silver light drifting down from the window. 

_I remember nothing, yet I am certain my raiment has never been such as this. So plain and homely…so faded for an assumed form._ Her confusion mounted when she raised a hand before her face and studied it closely; first the back of the hand, then slowly turned the palm up. She frowned when she saw strange lines pressed into the skin, extending across the palm and crossing one over the other. Her other hand came up with a quick jerk and she found it had been affected by the same markings, as well. 

She curled her fingers against her palm to form a fist and more lines appeared on her arms just below the wrists. When she splayed her fingers outward again they disappeared, but making a fist again yielded the same lines; it was obvious something firm moving within caused them. A sick panic filled her as she turned the left arm over and grasped the wrist with her right hand, squeezing tightly. Her hand moved slowly up her arm, and she felt something hard and unyielding beneath the skin. 

_What has been done to me?_ The sick panic turned to fear when she thought of something unknown having been placed beneath her skin without her knowledge or her permission. _What manner of thing is this beneath my form? As though pieces of iron had been placed within. Who would do such a deed? And why?_

She quickly turned from the window and moved toward the door, but stopped after only a few steps. The rhythmic motion, so soothing earlier as she lay on the bed, now made her head reel. She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to rid herself of the sensation but the movement only served to make the unbalanced feeling worse. She cradled her spinning head between her hands and without warning the center of her body began to tense and tighten painfully. Following close on its heels was a sensation she could only imagine to be caused by something within her trying to find an escape. A terrifying thought came to her, of the hardened forms beneath her skin, but the tight, painful feeling returned again, driving her thoughts away. This time it came with greater force, spreading up into her throat. 

No sooner had the pain passed than it came again, and her mouth yawned open of its own accord. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around the middle of her body and doubled over. Through the misery she thought only of something inside being forced up through her throat. The horrible sensation continued, over and over, failing to yield any results. The throes left her helpless and she drew quick breaths when she could and waited for the agony to subside. 

At last it ended, and she stood, closing her eyes and taking deep, shaky breaths until her head cleared. She opened her eyes and focused intently on the door as she started toward it again, determined that whatever possessed her body would not keep her from leaving the room again. When her hand closed around the metal doorknob she hesitated, but took another deep breath and opened the door swiftly before she had time to reconsider. She exhaled in relief and relaxed when she found nothing threatening or dangerous waiting outside, only an empty hallway stretching out in front of her. To her left was a set of stairs climbing toward the ceiling. 

She stepped cautiously into the hallway and looked around. The lamps on the walls of the hallway and at the base of the stairs cast a dim light, but the space still lacked radiance to her eye. _My surroundings are as drab as my raiment. What manner of place is this, so dreary and somber?_ She walked to the stairs and began to carefully climb them. Her hands slid slowly along the close walls as she used them for support, and she watched her feet closely to make certain she did not misstep. She managed the lower steps successfully and felt confident enough to raise her head. When she looked up her breath caught in surprise. 

The stairs ended in a long, rectangular opening on what should have been the ceiling but there was no ceiling - only the deep blue-black of the night sky and the beauty of the stars spreading out across it. Their clear light called to her, as though they were old friends. 

_At last, a familiar sight. The dull look of this place is driven away by their brilliance._ The stars stirred something within her spirit; a fullness, almost an ache, filling her chest and throat, and bringing tears to her eyes. 

“Elentárihini, a laita tárienna,” she whispered, and started in surprise at the sound of her voice. Not only at the flat sound of it, but also because she knew not from where the words had come. She shook her head and frowned, and continued her climb. 

Keeping her eyes fixed on the sky, she took the rest of the stairs quickly. She did not look around until she passed through the opening and another unfamiliar sensation overtook her. A cool, grazing touch suddenly brushed up the length of her body, lifting her hair in waving strands around her. Shivers ran down her back and quickly spread over her skin. She immediately crossed her arms over her chest and held herself tightly, looking around in confusion. But whatever had touched her was nowhere to be seen. Another familiar sight distracted her and she let out a deep sigh of relief. 

She stood on the deck of a white ship - not white with paint or with age; no, white was the color of the wood and here she found some of the radiance for which she searched. The silver of the moonlight reflected off the white wood, casting a soft glow and the tall white sails billowed, their fabric glimmering with the light of the moon and stars. She craned her neck up to look at the shining sails then looked out past the railing, over the water surrounding the ship as far as she could see. The full moon cast a wide beam of reflected light across the water, reaching almost from the horizon to the ship. The sound of laughter broke the calm and her head jerked to the right to find the source. 

Three figures stood around the ship’s wheel on the far side of the deck engaged in conversation, their backs to her. She hesitated again and had to force her legs to move toward the strangers. As she walked closer she saw a fourth figure step out from behind the others; he faced her but had not yet seen her. They were male, she noted, dressed in white robes and their long flowing hair gleamed in the moonlight. The one behind the wheel stood taller than the others and his hair was very pale, as white as the ship. 

As she walked silently toward the group the white-haired one behind the wheel started visibly. Sensing her approach, he now caught sight of her. His laughter faltered and he leaned around the others as she came closer. The other three turned to see what had caught his attention and they also grew silent as they stared at her. 

_They seem to pose no threat_ she decided, yet the closer she came the more uncomfortable their expressions grew. _They are Young Ones,_ she told herself when she had a closer look at their faces and saw their tapered ears, although was unable to say how it was she knew this. 

She reached them and studied each of their faces in turn. All but the tall white-haired one avoided meeting her eyes and looked pointedly away from her. Insulted by what she took to be dismissive behavior, she uncrossed her arms and dropped them to her sides. She gave the men an indignant look as she straightened her back and shoulders but this only elicited a more forceful dismissal. Though the tall one’s eyes did not falter, his companions jerked their heads away quickly and refused to look at her at all. 

“For Young Ones, you are very discourteous. Have you no manners?” She winced slightly at the soft sound of her voice, lacking harmony or melody there and sounding hollow to her ears. These words differed from the words she had spoken before, but where they had come from was yet another unknown. 

”Who are you that you would secret me away in this manner and to where do you take me?” she said, assuming they had brought her to this ship. Considering her confused state, she knew she could not have brought herself. _Who am I,_ she wanted to ask them, but did not dare for fear of showing weakness to these strangers. 

The white-haired one’s companions looked to him expectantly, and she blinked in surprise when his lips pursed together. This proved to be a useless effort and a wide, amused smile spread across his face, lighting his features which she at last noticed were quite handsome and pleasing. He left the wheel and walked toward her, slipping the white robe from his shoulders as he did. 

“I am Linquendil, my lady,” he said when he reached her, now clad in a loose white shirt and fitted trousers, “and if you will return below deck with me I will answer your questions as best I can.” 

She watched him closely as he came to her side, spread the robe out between his hands and draped it over her shoulders. At first she thought to deny him, but decided it best to demonstrate proper manners to these Young Ones. She looked back at Linquendil’s companions and saw two of them still refused to meet her eyes. The third had turned her way, yet it was not her face he looked at. He gazed down toward the deck, but then she saw his eyes traveling upward on her form until Linquendil pulled the robe closed. The Young One noticed her eyes on him and turned away as quickly as before. She watched with interest as a ruddy color appeared over his cheeks, spreading over the pale skin of his face. 

She shook her head in irritation at the rudeness of his dismissal and turned to Linquendil. “Very well, Young One, I will accompany you,” she said and bowed her head briefly to him. 

He nodded graciously in return and placed an arm around her shoulders, turning her in the direction she had come from and calling over his shoulder for one of the three men to take the wheel. Linquendil’s arm remained around her shoulders as they crossed the deck and the weight of it lent a feeling of comfort for which she was thankful. He stayed next to her as he led her down the stairs and the two of them fit closely in the narrow space. When they reached the bottom, she saw the door to her room remained open, exactly as she had left it. 

“Please, wait here a moment,” he said when they had passed through the doorway. 

He walked to a table against the far wall, but in the shadows of the room hid his movements. While waiting for him in the darkened room, she noticed the swaying motion again and it made her head spin. A small flame flared in Linquendil’s hand, illuminating his face in the warm glow. He lit a lamp on the table and the light spilled into the room. He moved further into the room and lit two lamps on the wall, then knelt before a large wooden box on the floor. She heard a short metallic sound and Linquendil opened the lid, searched through the contents until he found what he wanted, then closed the box again. When he stood and turned to her, he held a piece of folded blue fabric. 

“If you would allow me, my lady,” he said, walking back to her and gesturing toward the robe. 

Linquendil took the robe from her shoulders and laid it across the foot of the bed, then unfolded the garment he held, revealing a long sort of dress made of a thin fabric. 

“It is customary to wear clothing in public, my lady.” He laughed as he pulled the nightdress down over her head. “It has been a long while since I saw any of my mariners embarrassed but those three were highly uncomfortable when you crossed the deck wearing nothing but a frown. It was through no fault of your own, though. I know choosing clothing is an unfamiliar necessity for you.” 

She smiled at Linquendil with a patient expression as he helped guide her arms into the sleeves. 

“But I am clothed, Young One. When I am clad in my raiment, it is to me as clothing is to you.” 

Linquendil opened his mouth to reply but stopped and reached for her. The tight, painful clenching of her middle had returned and she doubled over. He quickly helped her to a chair against the wall and rubbed his hand along her back as the misery of the involuntary spasms returned. Just as before, whatever was attempting to make its way out did not show itself. The spasms passed and she sat up, letting her head fall back as she took deep breaths. 

“There are… strange things beneath my skin… hard, like pieces of metal…” she said, her words broken by the deep breaths she was forced to stop and take. “I fear they are trying to make their way out… and have chosen my mouth as an exit.” 

He frowned with worry as he studied he but understanding came quickly and with it came another smile to his handsome face. Linquendil made soft, comforting statements of reassurance as he gently took her hand and helped her to stand. With an arm around her waist he guided her to the bed, where he turned down the blankets and helped her lie down. The bed and pillow felt surprisingly soft and comforting to her spinning head and aching body, and she was glad of the blanket’s warmth when Linquendil pulled it back over her. 

She closed her eyes and listened to Linquendil leave the bedside and move around the room. After a few moments something cool and damp pressed against her forehead. Opening her eyes again, she found Linquendil now sitting in a chair beside the bed. 

“Close your eyes and lay still, my lady” he said and ran the damp cloth over her face before replacing it on her forehead. “The sea brings on a sickness for some but it will pass once you are accustomed to the movements of the ship. The structure beneath your skin is foreign to you, but I assure you it will do you no harm. It is there for a necessary purpose.” 

“I do not suffer from sickness, Young One,” she said and her voice sounded as weak as she felt. “What do you know of this strangeness beneath my form?” 

“Forgive me if it is presumptuous to correct you, my lady, I mean no disrespect; yet my people are known as Elves or Eldar, whichever you prefer. We have not been called Young Ones in ages, not even by your kind,” he said with an amused look in his eyes. “Also I believe it would be more appropriate to refer to this form as your body as opposed to your raiment.” The amusement left and he was troubled as he considered her for a time. Finally he said, “In this body you will know sickness, yet it would take an illness more severe than this to overcome you. More than that, I cannot tell you for I do not know.” 

“I do not understand what it is you mean, Youn… Linquendil.” She gave up her fight against the increasing weariness and closed her eyes, sighing heavily. “I remember nothing, yet still I feel things are not as they should be.” 

“All of this must seem very strange, indeed,” Linquendil agreed, wiping the wet cloth across her face before laying it on her forehead and smoothing the damp hair away from her face. “Sleep now, I will be here when you wake. Perhaps your mind will clear after you have rested.”

Her form began to relax and she felt the heaviness return to her limbs. A soft melody came to her ears; Linquendil’s voice almost as beautiful as hers had once been. She smiled at the song and the kind intentions of the Elf; all too soon the soothing blackness surrounded her and she slept.

 

~*~ 

 

_Night still retained its possession of the sky and the tall white lamps on the shore cast a soft light. She stepped away from the group standing beneath the lamps and watched her queen gracefully cross the golden sand littered with jewels and pearls. Elentári did not walk far from their group and as always she marveled at the beauty her queen radiated, even in assumed form. The ends of Elentári's pale golden hair brushed the glittering sand as she walked. A circle of silver upon her brow held the abundance of it away from her face, draping trails of jewels hanging from the circle and woven into the golden hair. The queen turned to her and smiled. Light from the lamps reflected brightly in Elentári’s eyes, the deep night-blue of them broken only by a circle of gleaming silver in the center._

_The velvet dress the queen wore trailed along the ground and the color was impossible to tell; it seemed to shift and change with each movement she made. A soft glow surrounded Elentári’s entire frame and the lines of her body blurred within the faint light, as if something large and bright were barely contained within._

_Elentári raised her arms to the sky, greeting her children and the stars appeared to dance happily just to have her gaze brush across them. The queen then turned toward the moon, extending one slender finger as though touching the moon. She spoke soft words as her hands slowly moved away from the moon and across the sky, stopping at a point in the western sky. There Elentári’s hands wove graceful patterns, tracing her fingers over the twilight starscape._

_The small group on the shore watched in silence as the movements of queen’s hands and her soft murmuring grew ever faster. Suddenly, Elentári’s hands stilled and now she whispered gently, raising one hand toward the sky and calling something to her. The queen fell silent and a pinpoint of light appeared in the sky. It glowed faintly at first and the intensity gradually increased. The light grew brighter until it flared briefly in a glorious display. The burst of light faded to reveal a star; its brightness receded until it mingled with its shimmering sisters._

_Elentári walked back down the shoreline, her bare feet gliding over the sand. When she reached those waiting for her, the queen’s smile was sad and she spoke to the one standing apart from the others._

_“Once you leave these shores none of us may help you, and what you must do must be done by you alone,” Elentári said in her soft voice, “although it is not beyond us to send others should the need arise.” She pointed toward the newly made star and said, “Remember this star and watch it always. When its light no longer shines, know you have been called home.”_

_A heavy feeling came over her; the shore, the starlit sky, and Elentári faded into a thick mist. The feeling of being lifted and carried was all she knew. The mist cleared briefly and she saw who carried her; an Elf, silver haired and tall, his finely shaped jaw set firm, frowning as he stared straight ahead. Sensing her gaze on him, the Elf looked down and his features softened. He smiled fondly at her before the mist closed in to take her again._

_No further visions came to her from the mist, only voices: one male and one female. She felt a soft surface beneath her and knew the Elf had laid her down._

_“I do not like this, Melian,” the male’s voice said, “she should not be sent this way. Do they truly imagine she will be able to accomplish what she has been asked to do with all they have taken from her? It is foolish, and I full well hope they hear my words from their thrones on high. It is foolish.” He said the last words in a raised voice, and the female hushed him._

_“There is nothing we can do; she has agreed to it. None of them, not even her, would pay heed to my warnings that this plan was ill conceived,” the female said, with a tone of disapproval as well. “Yet, console yourself with the knowledge that we have provided for her in ways they would not allow. Although I do not enjoy defying their commands, I cannot allow her to take this journey so poorly prepared.”_

_“If they did not so firmly believe they were always correct, their commands would not be so often defied,” came the male’s irritated reply. “This should not be put upon one who has so little knowledge of the place she travels to, she will be lost in those lands that are strange to her. They should have come to me, asked me to take this journey. I am no stranger to those lands, I would have been glad of the chance to return and put many things to right.”_

_“You are well aware you could not have gone; they wanted one of my Order,” the female said with a sigh. A short laugh escaped her and the female said, “I fear you would not have been suitable regardless of race, for they wished to send one to counsel, yet not interfere. I do not believe you could be subtle or patient enough to accomplish that task, Thingol, no matter how much of your memory was taken.”_

_“Perhaps you are right.” A self-depreciating laugh followed his agreement but quickly disappeared, replaced by the disapproving tone once more as he said, “Yet I would still go in her place if it were allowed. How can one fight evil when one has never truly known it?”_

_A hand ran softly across her hair, and the male spoke again, quiet and worried. “ She will know it if he still remains in those lands and he finds her. I believe he is beyond any redemption she might offer. They think to bait him with love, but I am uncertain if he ever truly knew love at all. No, I fear her struggles will be as much for her own sake as they will be for the sake of others.”_

_The gentle pressure of his hand was removed and he sighed, saying, “The ship is ready to sail, Melian, my love. We must go. If I remain here any longer I will be forced to openly defy the Valar and accompany her myself.”_

_She could sense the female he called Melian leaning close to her and she heard a whisper next to ear. “I owe you a debt of thanks I can never repay, yet I will try. When you reach your destination, search the chest they send with you. There are things hidden beneath your belongings, things you will have need of. Do not forget, and do not open them until you are off the ship. You will have dreams once you arrive in these new lands. Pay close attention to them and know what you see in them is true. In this way, I will send what help I can. My love goes with you…remember that always, my friend.” A gentle kiss pressed against her cheek._

_The presence of the male and the female faded into the mists and she heard no further sounds, other than the gentle splash of water and faint creaks and groans. Sleep came to her quickly and she knew no more._

 

~*~ 

 

NOTES:   
Elentárihini, a laita tárienna: Children of the Star-Queen, praise them to the heights. 

Linquendil – Quenya – literally means ‘watery friend’ or ‘wet friend’. I was going for ‘water friend’ though. I despise making up names, but only because I suck at it. 

I’m going to save the footnotes explaining the specifics until the next chapter, address everything at the same time.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two 

 

She opened her eyes to the brightness of the morning sun filling the room. Though the sickness seemed to have passed, she chose to wait until after she had risen from bed before considering herself fully recovered. When she turned to look around the room, she saw the Elf had fallen asleep in the chair, his head resting against the high back of it.

She cleared her throat and said, ‘Good morning, Linquendil.’ 

He sat up quickly and drew in a deep breath as he stretched his shoulders. ‘Good morning,’ he returned and smiled at her, ‘I take it you feel better this morning?’ 

‘Indeed I do. Thank you for caring for me last night,’ she said as she moved to sit up. Linquendil tried to help her, but she waved him away with a smile. ‘It was only last night, was it not?’ 

‘Yes, it was,’ Linquendil said, relieved to see her more focused this morning. ‘I also take it that you remember me?’ 

‘I remember you, Linquendil, and not only from last night. You have carried me on your ship before, the times I was allowed to journey to the isle of Elenna.’ 

‘You retain memories of Númenor?’ he asked in surprise. . 

‘Memories, yes,” she answered, “but of nothing more than the Westlands. I was not permitted to travel beyond those boundaries. I went no further north than the Bay of Andúnië and to the south, no further than the Bay of Eldalondë, yet it was enough. I was thankful for being allowed that much. But you already know of my travels there.’ 

She leaned against the smooth wooden wall behind the head of the bed, contemplating Linquendil with a frown, and said, ‘Although it does seem odd that I remember these journeys, yet cannot remember where I journeyed from or where I returned to.’ 

‘It is not so odd, unless you do not recall where we are sailing to or for what reason you go,’ he said to her, trying to gauge her clarity of mind before he spoke further. 

She gave him a knowing smile, fully aware of the reasoning behind his tact. ‘I know where I came from and why I was sent, and who I was… who I still am, I suppose,’ she added after a thoughtful pause. ‘Anything beyond that is lost in a mist that hides my memories. I might well have been born on those shores I last departed from, for all I know.’ 

‘In a sense you were,’ Linquendil said. His body relaxed back into the chair, satisfied that he could speak of what he had been told and knew to still take care not to mention the things he had been instructed to avoid. ‘Can you tell me what you remember? You may speak freely, for I am aware of the situation and you will be breaking no confidences to talk with me about it.’ 

‘I will tell you all that I can recall, which will not take long for I assure you it is not much.’ She took a deep breath and sighed before she spoke. The memories were still hazy and had to be pieced together, yet when her mouth opened the words came out on their own. 

‘I am of the Maiar and have been sent by the Valar to the mortal lands as a messenger… no, that is not the right word. An emissary, yes… an emissary, and my purpose is to gain knowledge of the evil they fear has returned to the mortal lands and to offer counsel to those who would seek to defeat it. Much of my memories and powers have been taken from me. I inhabit this form made of the substance of Arda that I may travel amongst the people unknown. Who I am and from where I come is remain secret, save to a select few. The Valar do not wish to interfere as they have done in the past for they feel they were in error.’

Linquendil felt uneasy listening to her speak. Her manner was that of one who repeats a passage committed to memory or reads aloud from a book; as one who does not speak their own words, but the words given to them by another. 

‘They do not wish to repeat their mistake,’ she continued in the same flat voice. ‘They will not intercede directly with the troubles of the scarred lands, but cannot leave its people to battle alone. And so they have sent me to find what information I can and offer help and guidance as I may. I am the first they have sent in this manner, but others will follow.’ 

The distant look left her eyes as she drew in a deep breath. She frowned and shook her head to clear it. ‘Still, despite their reasons, why would the Valar wish to send one of my Order if they have taken away so many of the powers inherent to my kind? It makes no sense to ask a Maia to fulfill their wishes if they strip me of my strength. Why not use a being who lacks these strengths to begin with?’ 

‘Perhaps the wisdom of your kind is the strength they sought,’ Linquendil replied. 

He crossed his arms and waited for her to sort through the thoughts with which she obviously struggled. He worried now that he realized how much of her memory and knowledge the Valar had stripped. In all the ages he had known her, she rarely questioned the will of the Valar. Her obedience and loyalty to them, particularly Varda, was renowned to all who dwelled in Valinor and possibly beyond. He imagined her loyalty played no small part in why she was allowed to accept this responsibility. But now…without the memories of who she was how much of what she had been still remained? 

Frustrated by her doubts and her inability to call on any source of memory for reassurance, she threw her hands out in disgust and exhaled loudly. ‘If that is what I must rely on for this task, then I can only hope I have wits aplenty, for it will take a good deal of wisdom to get by on that alone.’ 

‘You should have more faith in yourself, Ilmarë,’ Linquendil said, taking her hand between his, ‘it is not like you to be so doubtful. You would not have been sent if you were not capable of this.’ 

She shook her head again and snorted in disbelief, looking toward the window as she spoke. ‘It is difficult to have faith in myself when I have no memory of who I am other than what I was called, a given task, and the rules I must follow to complete it. How can one have faith in an empty vessel?’ Realizing what he had called her, she looked at him curiously. ‘Ilmarë is the name you know me by? For I have others, as well. That, at least, I remember.’ 

‘I know what names you have been given throughout your time and why, yet Ilmarë is the name I have always called you.’ 

She leaned closer and searched his face closely as she said, ‘Then you knew me well when I was still myself?’ When he nodded she asked, ‘What was I like? Do you see anything left in me of what I was before?’ 

Linquendil hesitated for now she asked the same question he himself had pondered only moments before. What answer could he give when he was uncertain himself? The truth, he decided… as best he could give it, at any rate. 

‘You were always happy and rarely without a smile, and you brought comfort to many. You had a quick wit and loved to laugh and see others laugh with you. And above all, you were kind… too kind at times. It was one of your failings,” he said, growing agitated as he spoke. “What failing is kindness, you may ask, and I will tell you; too much of it is always a failing to the one who gives it. All too often great kindness toward others leads to the neglect of oneself. That is what you could never understand. There were times when your kindness brought you sorrow, as it seems to have done once again.’ 

Linquendil caught himself, closing his eyes and drawing a slow breath. Ilmarë watched him with a mixture of surprise and concern. She had not imagined he knew her well enough to be upset by some wrong having been done to her. She waited, unsure what to say to him, and after a few moments he opened his eyes and shook his head. 

‘More than that I cannot tell you, I am not allowed,’ he said and gave her a smile. ‘However, I can tell you something of the person I knew remains within you. Your features have changed, but when I look into your eyes the friend I have always known is still there.’ 

She returned his smile gladly and tightened her hands around his. ‘There must have been some good in me to warrant having a friend such as you,’ Ilmarë said. Linquendil’s reassurance lightened her spirit and things seemed less grim. She released his hands and playfully waved him away. ‘Now, move aside and let me climb out of bed. We shall see if I fare any better with my body this morning than I did last night.’ 

Linquendil stood and moved the chair out of the way as Ilmarë pushed the covers off. She gratefully took his offered hand and swung her legs down from the bed to place her feet on the floor. After hesitantly resting her weight on her legs a few times, she stood and found it was easier than it had been the night before. She looked to Linquendil and offered him a slightly unsteady grin. 

”I must become accustomed to the burden of this ill-fitting body,” Ilmarë said as she raised and lowered her arms a few times, testing the weight of them. 

“Do you remember your assumed form?” Linquendil asked. 

“Not the look of them, no…” Ilmarë said, still distracted by the movement of her gangly limbs, “yet I do have a vague memory of the feel of my form.” She stilled her arms and thought for a moment, then dropped them as she looked at Linquendil. “The feel of my assumed form was nothing like this one. This body feels lumbering and awkward to me now but in another day or two I should be reasonably adept at handling it. I have not forgotten so much that I cannot remember how to move around or how to speak, and the rest is returning to me gradually.” 

Ilmarë took a few experimental steps, then smiled triumphantly and said, “Shall we go up on deck now? I would like to be out in the open air for a time.” 

‘After we change your clothing.’ He pointed to the dress she wore and said, ‘That is a nightgown, only for sleeping in. The thin material is more comfortable to rest in, but…well…’ he shrugged his shoulders, ‘it is not a very modest garment. You must change into a dress now.’ 

She remained next to the bed and watched Linquendil walk to the chest again and open the latch. 

‘Are all males as comfortable with choosing women’s clothing as you, Linquendil?’ she asked, amused by his lack of hesitation at rifling through the chest. 

‘No, not all; I have been wed for many years, Ilmarë. Of course, you would not remember my wife or my home on Tol Eressëa. I have grown accustomed to handling a woman’s clothing after all this time. Besides, it is no great feat to choose a dress.’ He frowned as he sorted through the clothing in the trunk and said, ‘There are many items of clothing in here I do not recognize. I believe mortal women wear undergarments which Elven women do not bother with. If that is what these are, I am afraid you will be left to your own devices to figure out what goes where, my dear.’ 

‘Perhaps I could ask one of your companions from last evening to assist me. They did not seem to be easily caught off guard by the unexpected.’ 

Linquendil turned and shook his head to see the overly innocent smile on Ilmarë’s face. He had always been amused by her sharp wit and he was relieved to know she still possessed it. ‘Well now… there is unexpected and then there is unexpected,’ he told her. ‘Judging by the look in your eye you intend to remind them of their discomfort. Be easy with them, Ilmarë. They are all of them unmarried and all of them only male. You must forgive us our weaknesses.’ 

She laughed loudly to see Linquendil’s own all too innocent expression and she gestured toward the dress he held as he turned to face her. 

‘I am happy to know you are made of sterner stuff, Linquendil, for you will have to show me how to get in and out of these dresses. Either the knowledge was lost in the memories taken from me or it is a matter I never had cause to know. Either way, I am unfamiliar with it.’ 

He looked at her, but did not comment. Those with assumed forms need not bother with clothing; they thought of the garments and they appeared. The mundane details of choosing it and taking it on and off were unnecessary for them and therefore unknown. Still, Ilmarë did not remember this and as such he could not speak of it. 

‘I will help you with what I can, yet any further knowledge must wait until you acquire some mortal female companions whom you may ask,’ Linquendil said and held the dress out to her. ‘Here now, you change and we will go to the galley and feed you. You must be hungry by now.’ 

Ilmarë placed her hands on her stomach and nodded in understanding. ‘So that is what pains me: the need to feed this body? I knew your bodies suffered from these hunger pangs, I have heard them called. I feared the horrible illness from last night had returned.’ 

Ilmarë looked down and began experimentally raising the nightdress up the length of her legs and Linquendil looked away. Feeling she understood the process, she took the hem of the material in both hands and pulled it up over her head. Linquendil looked back when Ilmarë gave a loud, frustrated yell. She had managed to lift the gown over her head but her arms were trapped against her head by a mass of fabric pulled tight by her struggles.

He held his laughter and carefully extricated her arms from the nightdress. Her hair fell wildly around her face and she let out a loud sigh of relief when freed from the clothing. Linquendil twirled his index finger at her and held up the dress again. 

‘Turn around and I will put the dress on you,’ he said, but she shook her head at him and took the dress from his hands. 

‘I would prefer you to explain it and I will do it myself. I must learn to do this without help. If I allow the small tasks to overwhelm me, I have little chance of handling the more important ones,’ she said. 

He took the dress back from her and held it out between his hands, pleased to note it was of a simple design. He showed her how to unfasten the back, refastened it, and he unfastened it again before giving it back to her. 

‘Now hold it by the shoulders and spread the top of the dress open so you can step into it.’ Ilmarë did as he said and Linquendil nodded. ‘Pull it up past your waist and place your arms in the sleeves…one arm at a time,’ he added pointedly, knowing trying to pull both arms through at once had caused her problems with the nightgown. ‘Then fasten the back of the dress closed and that is all there is to it.’ 

She slid her arms in the sleeves with no problem and he waited patiently while she struggled to refasten the back. After several determined attempts she succeeded and turned to him with another triumphant smile. 

‘There, it is done. It will merely be a matter of practice, and I will have no difficulty managing my clothing. Now may we go to this galley you spoke of?’ she asked of him. 

Linquendil shook his head and pointed to the slippers on the floor next to the bed. ‘Not yet; first you must put shoes on your feet.’ 

Linquendil showed her how to put on one shoe and Ilmarë slipped the other shoe easily onto her foot; she was surprised at how light and comfortable they were. She looked at him expectantly and her shoulders sagged in disbelief to see Linquendil shake his head again. 

‘There is more?’ 

‘Oh, yes, there is more.’ He smiled and pointed to the dressing table on the opposite side of the room. ‘You must do what ladies call ‘freshening up’, namely brushing your hair and washing your face. I will show you how to clean your teeth after you have eaten.’ 

With a long-suffering sigh, Ilmarë followed Linquendil across the room to the dressing table and sat in the chair he pulled out for her. She raised her head and her irritation, her hunger pangs, her frustration… all were forgotten. A sickening feeling filled her, as though the breath had been driven from her body. 

A mirror hung on the wall behind the dressing table and the reflection there stunned her. A stranger looked back at her – a woman with long hair, so black it gleamed. The woman studied her with wide shocked eyes of dark gray. Ilmarë raised a wavering hand to the stranger’s face and touched the golden-hued skin with her trembling fingers. They slowly trailed down the length of the slender neck and moved back up, then along the fine line of the jaw. The skin felt odd to her, though she could not say why. Perhaps the consistency or perhaps the ridges now marring the skin of her fingers were the cause. She stopped her fingers at the hollow of her cheeks and pressed them into the skin there, finding more hard forms beneath the skin, the name of the hard structures eluding her mind in its shock-numbed state. Her fingers brushed against the long lashes framing her eyes and her lids fell shut. Ilmarë blinked quickly as tears began to run from her eyes. When she looked into the mirror again, she traced a finger down one of the wet trails on her cheek and then let her hand fall to the table where it landed with a dull thud. 

 

‘Oh, Linquendil,’ she whispered in a wavering voice as she watched tears spill from the unfamiliar eyes and roll down her cheeks, ‘what have they done to me?’ 

The vague memory of her assumed form returned. No…not so much a memory but the vague impression of an airy, flowing radiance, so different from the heavy, coarse feel of this body and the dull look of it. _I feel as though I have glided along the winds and air for the whole of my existence, yet now I find myself chained to the ground in this prison of flesh._

‘It is not permanent, Ilmarë,’ Linquendil said as he knelt next to the chair and turned her away from the mirror, ‘and trust me when I say this form is not as unsightly as it seems to you at this moment. Give yourself time to become accustomed to it.’ He wiped the tears from her cheeks and gently placed a finger under her chin, raising her face to his. 

‘You have long desired to see what the lands of Middle-earth have become and at last you have the chance,” he said so earnestly that Ilmarë put her grief aside to listen. “To gain something we truly want, most often sacrifices must be made. This is yours. You will finish your work and return to Aman, and there the form you have known will be given back to you. Until that time enjoy this opportunity you have been given for it will never come again. Do not waste this journey with unhappiness at this temporary form you must wear. Who knows? You may become attached to it after spending enough time with it.’ 

Ilmarë ’s look told Linquendil how seriously she doubted that likelihood and he smiled as he stood and pulled her up with him. 

‘I do not know what I was thinking, telling you to brush your hair. It can wait, the wind will muss it anyway.’ He led her toward the door and said, ‘Come now, we will go above deck for you always did love the open sea and watching the sunlight dance upon the waves. The light of it was like stars freed from the heavens to go where they would, you would tell me, and the sight of it lightened your heart. We will go to the railing and watch the water as we wait for the sun to climb high in the sky.’ 

Ilmarë gave him a small smile, forced but thankful, and she followed him from the room in search of the sunlight and the waters of the sea. 

 

~*~ 

 

That morning marked the beginning of their second day out to sea, and by the end of the day Ilmarë had discovered she enjoyed food. After finally leaving the deck, they spent most of the afternoon in the galley. Her gushing appreciation of the food pleased the cook to no extent and he prepared many different dishes, all of which she sampled. The enjoyment did little to lessen the horror she felt later that day when Linquendil explained to her the workings of the body after eating and drinking. The discovery only served to solidify her opinion of the unpleasantness of a Mortal body, yet Linquendil assured her this was something the Elves endured as well. 

Though that reassurance fled her mind later that afternoon when Ilmarë’s full bladder pained her enough to finally gain her attention. Linquendil sighed in disappointment when he saw Ilmarë squirming with this new and unpleasant sensation. Her squirming had turned to a quick impatient bouncing movement by the time they reached the latrine. He gave Ilmarë a hasty explanation to raise her skirt high and sit down, then to just relax and allow her body to perform its function. 

Linquendil immediately heard the sound of Ilmarë’s bladder relieving itself but her loud exclamations of disgust immediately covered the sound. He shook his head and leaned against the latrine door as he listened to Ilmarë’s vocal tirade concerning the foul nature of the Mortal form. A deep sigh escaped him as he berated himself for not accepting his wife’s offer of traveling with them to aid in Ilmarë’s care.

After Ilmarë’s hasty exit from the latrine, Linquendil escorted her back to the deck and then offered a reluctant reminder that her body had yet to rid itself of the afternoon meal. Ilmarë felt the cramping sickness return to her stomach and rise into her throat as she listened to Linquendil speak. He patted her shoulder consolingly before he left her at the railing and returned to his place at the wheel. 

Ilmarë looked around the deck for something to take her mind off the revolting eventuality and, as luck would have it, Linquendil’s companions from the previous night chose that moment to walk up the stairs. The last one to emerge from below deck was the Elf who had taken a last, stealthy look at her unclothed body. For the life of her, she still could not fathom his reasons for wishing to look at this ungainly form, but she shrugged the thought off as she hurried to catch him before he caught up with the others. 

He caught sight of her coming to meet him and his eyes widened before he looked away. The skin of his cheeks darkened again and he looked helplessly in the direction of his friends, but he stopped and waited, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. 

‘Good afternoon…or I should say good evening, judging by how close the sun is to leaving the sky,’ she said with a friendly smile and pointed toward the sky.

The Elf only gave her an uncomfortable glance and looked away quickly, much as he had done the night before. Her innocent expression did not falter as she watched him. 

‘You do not recognize me?’ she asked in feigned concern after a few moments of silence. ‘Oh, but that is understandable. My body is hidden by these clothes where as it was bare last night; and you did not look long at my face.’ She smiled brightly as though struck by a sudden idea and reached for the fastenings on the back of her dress. ‘Perhaps if I were unclothed again you would remember who I was. It will only take a moment…’ and her voice trailed off and she began tugging to unfasten the dress. 

‘No, my lady, wait…’ he finally said in a panic as he held his hands out desperately signaling for her to stop. ‘Please, I assure you, I remember you… I do.’ 

Ilmarë lowered her arms and could not hold her amusement any longer. She smiled at him just before she burst out in laughter and the mariner’s surprised look made her laugh all the harder. The realization that she had been teasing him set in and he rolled his eyes and smiled, but more importantly his nervousness was gone. 

‘Forgive me for making jest at your expense, but I wished to ease your worry beyond what a simple apology would have allowed,’ she explained. ‘Although I do apologize for having caused you such embarrassment last night; I was not myself. Fortunately my rest seems to have returned some of my wits to me. What is your name?’ 

‘My name is Beldanwë, my lady, and if you will forgive my behavior, then I will forgive your torment of me,’ he said, his smile showing he had already forgiven her. 

‘And mine is Ilmarë,’ she replied. 

‘Yes, I know your name and who you are. That we were trusted by the Valar with this knowledge and the responsibility of bearing you to the mortal lands is an honor to all of us,’ Beldanwë said with a respectful bow of his head. ‘I was also honored to have spoken with King Elwë when he brought you on board at Alqualondë.’ 

_Alqualondë…oh yes, the shore of sand mixed with jewels and pearls, lit by giant lamps in the shape of swans. But Elwë is not familiar, yet if he is the Elf who brought me on board…_

‘Elwë is your king?’ she asked with interest. ‘And his name is also Thingol?’

‘He is known by both names, and others besides. The Teleri of Alqualondë hold his brother, Olwë as their king; yet my mother and father were among those led to Aman by Elwë. When he was lost on the journey many of the Elves left without a leader followed Olwë. Nonetheless, my family has always held Elwë as king,’ Beldanwë said. 

Ilmarë looked at him closely. ‘Would you tell me the story in full… of Elwë and your people? I would very much like to know.’ He frowned in worry and she added, ‘As long as you do not tell me anything of myself or my time in Aman, it is allowed. It will be necessary for me to known the history of those I am sent to help.’ 

‘I would be pleased to tell you all you wish to know about the histories,” he said, smiling again. “Though I was born on Eressëa I have heard the tales from my mother and father all my life.’ 

Beldanwë led her to a small bench near the railings but before sitting he waved his hand to catch Linquendil’s attention. Linquendil did not leave the wheel of the ship, only watched Beldanwë as though he were listening then nodded his head. Beldanwë took his seat next to Ilmarë and there they sat for hours as she listened with great interest of the tales of Beleriand and the First Age. No doubt her tutor would have continued, but she was forced to stop the tale after learning the fate of Thingol and Melian’s daughter, Lúthien. 

As though sensing her weariness, Linquendil came and bade her to say goodnight. Ilmarë’s body felt unbearably heavy as she dragged herself along, leaning against Linquendil as he led her down the stairs and back to her room. Once there, she went straight to her bed and was fast asleep before Linquendil could even light the lamps. 

She woke the next morning to find a small cot into the room. No doubt Linquendil had slept there out of worry that she might wander again. Yet the cot was empty and he was nowhere to be seen. Ilmarë was up and dressed when he returned to the room. She sat at the dressing table putting her shoes on, careful not to look in the mirror. The thought of seeing the stranger there frightened Ilmarë and it was something she was prepared to do again, not just yet. 

Linquendil was happy to see that she was becoming more familiar with choosing clothes and dressing but judging from the smile on his face, something else contributed to his cheerful state. 

‘There is something I want you to see. Come with me,’ he said as she took his offered hand and he led her out of the room. 

When they reached the deck, Ilmarë saw they were fast approaching a harbor. The water met the land in a narrow strip of sandy beach and just beyond it rose a steep and rocky incline. Buildings sat in the odd places where the ground leveled out on small, flat areas. A road ran up the incline angling back and forth between the plateaus, taking advantage of the level sections of ground. The road ended in a city sitting atop the first level of cliffs. It was a large city, spreading out over the smooth terrain there and on the far side of it a second set of cliffs rose behind the city. The ship pulled alongside a long, wooden pier stretching far out into the water. 

Ilmarë saw the pier and smiled as a memory rushed to her mind. Recalling familiar knowledge reassured her, for the emptiness of her mind had been a frightening feeling. 

_The pier is longer than one would expect because the water is very shallow in places. The reefs along the shoreline are dangerous as well, even for ships with shallow drafts, but the keel of this ship is deep and takes more water than most. That is why we dock at the far end of the pier. Linquendil told me these things on my first journey here to Andúnië._

She turned to Linquendil, who expectantly awaited her reaction. 

‘You have brought me back to Númenor,’ she said and saw him relax into a smile. ‘Thank you, it is good to see a familiar sight. Those have become few and far between for me.’ 

Linquendil nodded in understanding. He turned to watch a group of Elves and Men unloading cargo from one of the ships docked in the harbor. After leaving the ships, they took the cargo to the base of the cliffs. There, another group of workers hauled the items up the cliff by means of a large crane fitted with pulleys and ropes. 

‘I thought it might,’ he replied still watching the workers on the shore. ‘We will stay here for a few days, and then resume our journey to Middle-earth. That will cheer you and put you in a better state of mind for your arrival in Lindon.’ 

Her eyebrow rose as she studied him, and she asked, ‘You were given permission for this? I admit, that the Valar would allow it surprises me.’

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled, still looking toward the shore. ‘I was not given permission because I did not ask for it. It is not uncommon for a ship to stop at different ports of call along a traveled route, so I doubt it will even be questioned.’ Linquendil gave her shoulders a squeeze before stepping away. ‘There are things I must do now to take the ship in to dock, and then we will go ashore.’ 

Ilmarë followed him and watched while Linquendil shouted orders to the mariners to drop the anchor. The white ship bumped gently against the wood of the pier as they drew alongside and the Elven mariners on board threw several ropes to the Men waiting on the piers, who tied the ropes off securely. The gangplank was lowered and Ilmarë accompanied Linquendil ashore along with several of the mariners. 

Ilmarë enjoyed the few days spent on Númenor, mostly spent on the shores of the bay or wandering the town of Andunie. A large marketplace filled the center of the city with many merchants’ shops lining the terra cotta brick-lined streets. Perhaps it was being surrounded by other mortals or perhaps she was becoming more accustomed to her body, but whatever the reason Ilmarë soon found her surroundings less drab and dreary. 

Some of the clothing in the shops of Andunie appealed to her: dresses of simple cut and design but made of beautiful materials ranging from light fabrics with intricate beadwork and embroidery, to silky diaphanous fabric that shimmered with each movement. Not far from the merchants’ square was a large courtyard and in the afternoons Ilmarë would sit with Linquendil at a table shaded by spreading trees. Fragrant red flowers covered the branches and the silver leaves reflected the sunlight like dancing stars. For these attributes, the tree had been named Vardarianna, gift of Varda. It also was Ilmarë’s favorite among all the trees of Númenor.

From beneath the gray-barked branches of the Vardarianna trees Ilmarë watched the inhabitants of Númenor as they walked past. They were tall, as tall as the Elven mariners mingling among them, though the women’s height was just shy of the men’s. Their hair varied from shining black to gleaming gold, and for the most part their eye color was either bright blue or silvery gray. Ilmarë noted with surprise how closely the Númenóreans resembled the Elves, both the males and the females. She also quickly noted the resemblance of her own form to the women she saw on the streets of Andunie; so much, in fact, that some of the merchants even asked which part of the island she hailed from. The realization soon dawned on Ilmarë that her form was meant to be that of a Númenórean.

‘Yes, you are quite right,’ Linquendil answered when she commented to him about it as they sat on a large rock near the shoreline of the bay, ‘it is clear you were meant to appear Númenórean. And why, is the unasked question I see hovering in your eyes.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It could be that the Númenóreans are the mortal race the Valar are most familiar with and so modeled your appearance after theirs. Or possibly they wanted others to assume you were from Númenor, to help keep the secrecy of your identity. I do not know, Ilmarë.’ 

‘Not knowing… that is a feeling I am all too familiar with, Linquendil.’ 

She watched as he picked up a flat pebble from the sand and with a small jerking motion he tossed it out over the calm waters. It hopped across the surface of the water several times leaving delicate, spreading rings in its wake before disappearing beneath the water. Ilmarë picked up a similar stone and tried to imitate Linquendil’s throw but the stone only made a half-hearted leap and fell into the water with a hollow ‘plop’. She sighed and began shaking her head when an idea came to her. 

‘Beldanwë has been teaching me of the history of the First and Secondborn, can you not teach me things as well? You have taught me much already, but I wish to know things about the world around me, things that will aid me in keeping up the appearance of being from these lands. Or at least being familiar with this body,’ she said and waved her hand toward the ship as her eyes lit up with the thought of gaining knowledge. ‘Teach me the ways of mariners; that should be easy enough for you. Teach me of the differences between the lands here and those of Middle-earth. I know they exist just from listening to Beldanwë’s tales. Or teach me of…’ 

Yes, yes…’ Linquendil said, laughing and holding up his hands for her to stop, ‘I understand Ilmarë, and I will teach you those things and all else I can think of before we reach the havens of Lindon. Would you like to begin now?’ 

‘I certainly would…’ she replied and bent down to pick up another flat stone, ‘and I would like to begin with this skill you have of making the stones fly across the water.’ 

‘Well now, that takes a fair amount of dexterity and expertise, my dear. Not just anyone can master it, but for the sake of our friendship, I will try.’ He winked at her as he motioned for her to follow him closer to the water’s edge. He stood behind her and lightly grasped her arm as he guided it forward. ‘Hold the stone with your thumb and your forefinger…just like that. Now it is all a matter of how you move your wrist as you throw it.’ 

Many sailors on the docks watched the pair with amusement: the tall, white-haired Elven captain and the dark-haired Mortal woman making an odd couple as they skipped stones out into the bay until well after the waters had taken on the rosy glow of the sunset. 

A few days later the white ship took its leave of the piers of Andúnië and took a heading toward the harbors of Middle-earth. The remainder of the journey passed quickly for Ilmarë. It seemed the day came all too soon when Linquendil called her up on deck. 

She had been below, practicing the reading and writing the Elves had been teaching her when Linquendil appeared in the doorway of her bedroom, once again telling her he had something to show her. When she reached the deck it was late afternoon. She noticed a coolness to the air which had not been there that morning. Linquendil led her to the railings and with a flourish of his hand directed Ilmarë’s attention toward the east. 

‘Ela, Ilmarë,’ he said with a smile. ‘Have your first look at Middle-earth.’ He watched her eyes widen and his smile widened with them. ‘We have left the waters of the sea and now travel through the Gulf of Lhún. That is the coast of Harlindon and soon the city of Harlond will be in sight.’ 

Her eyes now lacked the keen sight of Linquendil’s but Ilmarë could see the lands in the distance. The coastline stretched out for miles in each direction. She could see the sands of the shores in places, light brown and not pale like the sands of Andúnië. Woodlands crowded with trees stretched back into the lands. Though smaller and less graceful than the trees of Númenor, they were ablaze with the colors of sunset, in gold, orange and red. Linquendil had explained the change of seasons in the mortal lands and she knew the plants and trees were showing signs of the beginning of autumn. Ilmarë inhaled deeply as she looked out over the water to the land across the gulf. 

‘It is beautiful. I did not think it would be, but I was gravely mistaken,’ she said. 

Linquendil nodded and said, ‘The lands of Middle Earth do have a beauty of their own.’ 

‘Yet you prefer the lands of Aman?’ she asked with a sidelong glance.

‘Of course; Eressëa has long been my home,’ he said. ‘I once lived in these mortal lands ages past, until the time when we were called by the Valar to come to Aman. With my people, I rode through the sea upon Eressëa.’ Linquendil glanced at her and smiled. ‘I was known as Linwë then. I did not come to be called Linquendil until I became acquainted with the Elves of Valinor.’ 

Ilmarë’s head came up suddenly in surprise at this revelation but he did not notice for he had turned to look out over the waters again. ‘We traveled through the waters on the island until it came to be anchored by Ossë in the waters off the coasts of Valinor, in the very place it now rests. In time, many of my people did leave Eressëa for the light of Valinor but I was among those who did not. Great is my love for the Lonely Isle and to my eyes there is no place more fair.’ 

She nodded and returned her gaze to the lands before her. Away in the distance she saw mountains, but did not ask their names; she did not wish to break the silence as she and Linquendil watched the lands slip past. 

The mountains themselves and the lands at their feet rose from the earth like a stairway. The sandy shores of the gulf ended in grassy meadows, their green spotted here and there with splashes of color from the yellowing grasses and wildflowers beginning their fall bloom. Beyond the grasslands began the woods, and over the trees topped with the red, orange and golden hues of autumn towered the mountains. The steep sides of the dark giants stretched up to the sky brushing the clouds with their snow-covered pinnacles. 

The strong love Linquendil had for Aman was understandable, but now the lands of Middle Earth enthralled Ilmarë with their riot of smell and sights. The life emanating from them flooded her senses and she had an unexpected connection to these lands as she gazed upon them. When Linquendil told her she had long desired to see the mortal lands Ilmarë had not believed it possible but now she understood. A force here touched her spirit, pulling her in and wrapping firmly around her. In the past days she had felt an increasing sense of anticipation, as though something awaited her. Now she was certain whatever it was, it waited here in these lands. 

Linquendil rested a hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly as she pulled her gaze away from the lands to look up at him. 

‘You should prepare your things, Ilmarë,” he said, “We will be arriving at Harlond by early evening.’

Ilmarë did not speak, only nodded before hurrying back to her room to collect her things. An odd mixture of excitement and fear filled her and she could not have said which was the greater. 

Although she did not tarry it was still well after dark when she arrived back on deck. She found Linquendil at the wheel and told him she was ready. He pointed toward the bow of the ship at the lights drawing ever closer. 

‘The southern piers of the Grey Havens,’ he said. ‘I sent word of our arrival to Círdanand he will meet us there.’

Ilmarë nodded. ‘Yes, I was told of him before I left Valinor, but I did not know he was bearded until you told me.’ She laughed and added, ‘Of course, I would not have known it was unusual had you not told me that as well. I am looking forward to meeting him. Yet you did not tell me why he bears this odd trait.’ 

‘Well, there are those who say we Elves grow beards in the later cycles of our lives and that Cirdan was one of the first Fathers who awakened by the Waters,’ he said, ‘yet that is not so. I am older than Cirdan and Thingol is older than me, and there are many who are older than Thingol. Yet I know of no Elves who are bearded, save Cirdan and one other who dwells in Valinor.’ 

Linquendil glanced down at Ilmarë and said, ‘You must ask him, for whatever the reasons are, they are his own.’ 

The ship drew close to the piers and Linquendil had the first mate take the wheel. He walked with Ilmarë to the bow of the ship amidst the sailors hurrying back and forth across the deck in preparation for docking. As they came closer Ilmarë saw the lights came from large wrought-iron lanterns suspended from tall posts. These lined the piers and stretched back up into the city, lighting the roads as well. 

An Elf stood in one of the glowing circles the lamps cast on the pier. His robes of white and silver stood out but the silver of his hair outshined them, reflecting the light of the lamp and gleaming like starlight. He stood facing the ship and obviously awaited their arrival. The ship slowed, continuing toward the pier until it met the wooden structure with a sudden bump. Ilmarë looked down and grabbed the railing to help keep her balance. When she raised her head again, the Elf had left the light to move closer to the ship and now she saw his face clearly. 

Outside the lantern’s halo the light of the newly risen moon illuminated him. A neatly trimmed beard covered the lower half of his face, the hair of it as silver as the hair of his head. He gazed intently at her and in the moonlight his grey eyes appeared almost silver as well. 

_How ethereal he is, this apparition of silver and white,_ Ilmarë thought, spellbound and openly returning his stare. Linquendil pulled her away from the railing and led her away to the gangplank that had just been lowered to the pier. 

Leaving his place at the edge of the pier, Círdan walked to the end of the gangplank and smiled as he watched his guests descend. 

 

~*~ 

 

NOTES: 

***Ela! – Telerin: ‘See!’ used to indicate an object when pointed to.

***Beards on Elves: In Letters, Prof. Tolkien said that Elves grow beards in the later cycles of their lives to explain to one reader why Cirdan had a beard. Honestly, I think he had so much going on, he forgot he’d said Elves didn’t have beards when he gave Cirdan one at the end of RotK. But a friend asked me to give a reason why Cirdan would have a beard and I was game. 

***Ilmarë: Well, I guess it’s obvious now who and what she is. I needed the Maia blood to make the later storyline concerning Annatar work; in the original version of this story I had created a sister for Lúthien. I couldn’t have the character too closely related to Elrond because of this strange aversion I have to inbreeding; call me old fashioned. It never sat well with me though. I felt like I was cheating by making up a family member for such an important character, but I was at a loss as to how to make it work. Then, as luck would have it, I was looking up information on Khamûl in Unfinished Tales and I reread the chapter on the Istari while I was there. 

I would basically have to quote the whole chapter here to explain everything, so instead I’ll just touch on the important points. It says ‘Of this Order (Heren Istarion) the number is unknown; but of those that came to the North of Middle-earth, where there was most hope….the chiefs were five.’ Now, on the previous page, it says they were first seen in ME in the Third Age, but that section is specifically discussing the five above-mentioned ‘chiefs’ who came to the North. At least that’s the way I’m going to interpret it. In People of Middle Earth in the chapter Last Writings there is a section on the Istari that’s a fragment from the chapter in UT that Christopher Tolkien couldn’t decipher at the time. He’d obviously figured it out by the time PoME was published, though. It discusses two other Istari who were sent to ME in the Second Age, Morinehtar and Rómestámo. 

For my own purposes, I took this all to mean that there were others who came to ME besides Gandalf and Co., and some of them as early as the Second Age. It never says there weren’t any females among them…of course, it doesn’t say there were any either, but hey. In Letters, the professor says the Istari were always sent in the form of ‘old men and sages’ but nobody says a sage has to be old and male, they only have to be wise. Semantics…it’s all about semantics. 

UT also discusses how the Maiar were put into ‘bodies of Middle-earth’ and were subject to all its weaknesses, including being able to be led away from their purpose and do the wrong things. ‘…forgetting the good in the search for the power to effect it.’ I love that quote. This next passage is talking about Gandalf and Co. in particular, but I thought it would apply to all Istari: ‘For it is said indeed that being embodied the Istari had need to learn much anew by slow experience, and though they knew whence they came the memory of the Blessed Realm was to them a vision from afar off, for which (so long as they remained true to their mission) they yearned for exceedingly.’ So they came back to ME with limited memory and limited powers. 

Since in this story she’s supposed to be the first, I figure she’s the Valar’s guinea pig for tinkering with the Maiar’s brains, so to speak, and maybe they went a little overboard on the memory wipe. Or maybe it’s more like a firewall or partitioning a hard drive: the information is still there, it’s just not accessible. 

If you find something to burst my theory, please let me know if I missed anything. 

As far as using Ilmarë, that boils down to the fact that A) I didn’t want to subject myself to the torture of making up a new name and B) I preferred to use a character that was already there, but vague. She was perfect. In the Silm, it says ‘Chief among the Maiar of Valinor whose names are remembered in the histories of the Eldar Days are Ilmarë, the handmaid of Varda…’ and it goes on to talk about Eönwë. Then she’s mentioned in a different incarnation in Book of Lost Tales. And that’s it, no other information. Well, in David Day’s Illustrated Tolkien Companion, it says she throws spears of light down from the sky, but I don’t know what that’s all about. It’s nowhere in the books and nobody else seems to know where it came from either. If you know, please pass it on to me.


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three 

 

‘Welcome to the Grey Havens,’ Círdan said. He made a gracious bow as his visitors reached the end of the gangplank and stepped onto the pier. He turned to Linquendil with a wide smile. ‘Linwë, to look upon you after so great a time… and still it seems as though we had not been parted at all. How is your father? There are many tales extolling the incredible beauty of the Swan Havens of Alqualondë. I would imagine Olwë lives in unbearable misery there.’ 

Linquendil let out a good-natured laugh as he took Círdan’s extended hand in a firm grip. ‘Time has not affected your humor, Nowë; you are as dryly amusing as you were in our youth. My father is happy in Valinor, although there are times when he still longs for the great forests of Middle-earth. He would be happier if I left Eressëa to join him, but I prefer the silver beaches of Avallónë to the golden sands of Alqualondë’

Círdan pointed toward the white ship behind them. ‘I see you have also chosen the life of a mariner instead of following your father in his craft.’ He raised an eyebrow at Linquendil and said, ‘I fail to see why; being a shipwright is a highly respected profession.’ 

‘I will give you the same reply I give my father...’ Linquendil bowed his head slightly, ‘those who seek fulfillment build ships and those who seek adventure sail them.’ Círdan’s laugh mingled with Linquendil’s, but after a moment their laughter slowed and Linquendil looked at Círdan with a wistful smile. ‘I have missed your company, my friend. I wish I could stay longer.’ 

Círdan’s sigh was heavy as he nodded slowly. ‘I return both sentiments, Linwë,’ he said, ‘yet I understand. A long journey home still awaits you.’ He turned to Ilmarë, who had been standing silently at Linquendil’s side, watching the two of them with interest. ‘And this must be our mysterious visitor. It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady.’ 

Círdan held his hand out to her and she took it with a smile. ‘Thank you, Lord Círdan; it is kind of you to make an uninvited and unexpected guest so welcome.’ 

Ilmarë bowed her head politely and closed her eyes, but snapped them open again when she felt something soft brush across her knuckles. Círdan had bent his head far enough to press a kiss against her hand, and the feel of his lips and his warm breath on her skin sent a shudder down her back that was oddly pleasing. When he straightened back up, she frowned and studied his lips closely, trying to discern what it was about them that could cause such a reaction. His mouth curled into a smile and she looked up to find Círdan watching her with amusement. 

‘Where will she be staying, Nowë? My men and I will take her things, if you will lead the way.’ He pointed toward the large trunks the mariners were lowering to the pier, but Círdan released Ilmarë’s hand and shook his head. 

‘You do not have to trouble yourself with that, some of my men will be arriving soon…’ The sound of footsteps against the wooden pier interrupted him. ‘Oh…here they are now.’ Círdan pointed at the small group of Elves walking down the pier toward them. ‘I had planned for her to stay with me. You and your men could still accompany us. I would be happy to show you my home.’ 

‘As much as that would please me, it is not possible,’ Linquendil replied and sighed in disappointment. ‘We cannot stay; I am expected to leave immediately. There are many who will be waiting impatiently for my return to Aman and bring them word that all went well. We will stop in Vinyalondë for supplies before we…’ Ilmarë’s hand grabbed his forearm tightly and jerked on his arm; he stopped speaking to look at her. 

‘You are not staying, Linquendil?’ She had known Linquendil would not stay long, but that he would be leaving immediately was a complete shock; he had said nothing of it. Now the thought of his departure brought her close to tears. ‘You cannot leave so soon. Please, do not leave me here alone like this.’ Her voice broke and she began to cry. Linquendil pulled her into his arms and gently guided her head to his chest with one hand. 

‘Shhh…there is no need for tears; I am not leaving you alone. Nowë…Círdan will help you now. He is my kin and I would not have brought you to him if I did not trust him, no matter what I was told.’ He rubbed his hand along her back and said, ‘I must leave; to deliver you safely to Harlond was my only task and now I have done so. I am not allowed to stay.’

Linquendil closed his eyes as he rested his cheek against the top of Ilmarë’s head. This was why he had mentioned nothing of his immediate departure to her; he had known that in her state of mind it would only upset and frighten her. He listened to her cry and felt his eyes sting, but he was all too aware that his tears would only serve to upset her more. Once again, he felt uneasy about this task and questioned whether or not he should put her back onto the ship and return her home. He wavered for a few minutes, but decided against it. Her crying had almost stopped, and he took a deep breath then gently pushed her away from his chest. Putting his hand under Ilmarë’s chin, he lifted her face to look at him. 

‘If I were to go against what I had been told and remain here another day or even another week, it would make the parting no easier. It is better to do this quickly. Trust Círdan, and trust in yourself.’ Linquendil pressed a kiss to her forehead and said, ‘There is nothing more I can say to you that has not already been said. Remember the things we spoke of on the journey here. When your work in these lands is finished and you are called back, I will return and my ship will carry you home; you have my word.’ 

‘Thank you, Linquendil,’ Ilmarë said and touched a hand to his cheek before wiping the tears from her face. ‘I am sorry; you have done so much for me already, it is unfair to ask anything else of you. I understand why you must leave, and do not worry for me. I will be fine; Círdan is here to help me.’ She swallowed her fear and smiled for Linquendil’s sake. ‘I will hold you to your promise, and I pray it will not be long until you return.’ 

Her smile did not ease his discomfort at leaving her; but nonetheless, Linquendil looked over her shoulder and nodded. Círdan stepped forward to place his arm around Ilmarë’s shoulders, and moved her away from Linquendil. 

‘Please take good care of her, Nowë.’ Linquendil said and then his face darkened with anger. ‘I know you trust this Elven king, yet I do not. He may not carry the fouled blood of those who would slay their own kin, but he is still Noldor. I have no love or trust for any of them. It is the way of the Noldor to never be satisfied, always wanting more than is given to them. Do not let them use her for their own selfish gain.’ 

‘He is your kin, Linwë; does that mean nothing to you?’ 

‘He is descended from my sister four generations removed,’ Linquendil answered with more anger than before, ‘that does not mean I claim him as my kin. He calls himself a Noldor and so Noldor he is. It matters not what blood an Elf carries, what matters is where his loyalties lie. You are well aware that your father and mine have always felt this way, as does Elwë. As do I.’

Ilmarë stared at Linquendil, stunned by the fury in his voice. He had shown anger when telling her the story of the house of Finwë, but she had never seen him enraged like this. To add to her disbelief, Círdan was understanding of it and seemed saddened for Linquendil’s sake. 

‘It is true; there are many Noldor still left in these lands who are untrustworthy, yet their king is not one of them. Regardless of his allegiance to the Noldor, he is Sindarin and Telerin as well. He is a most unselfish person, Linwë. If you knew him, you would trust him as I do. Yet I know you have good reason for your doubts. Rest assured that I will see to her well-being,’ Círdan replied and held his hand out once more. ‘Farewell, Linwë, until we meet again, my friend. May the winds blow fair upon your sails and Eru keep you safe.’ 

Linquendil nodded in silence as he gripped Círdan’s hand tightly before releasing it; he did not trust himself to speak, but not because of his anger. Ilmarë was trying unsuccessfully to conceal her fear as she stood in the circle of Círdan’s arm, and his own doubts and worries began to intrude upon his thoughts once more. Before they could take hold, he quickly turned away without another word and walked in long, hurried strides up the gangplank. 

When he passed the waiting Elves at the top he waved his hand, signaling them to raise the gangplank back on board. Ilmarë could hear Linquendil’s shouted commands to ready the sails and cast off the gaskets. Círdan’s men on the pier untied the ropes and bow began to turn away. When the ship was a short distance from the pier the sails were unfurled and they filled with the cool evening winds. 

Ilmarë stood on the pier with Círdan and they watched the white ship move westward with increasing speed, through the gulf waters and back toward the sea. Her heart sank to know her only connection with home was now severed. Not even Círdan’s presence eased her loneliness. The Elves began to pick up her trunks and Círdan looked down at Ilmarë. 

He knew watching the ship depart would only prolong her sadness and it was better if they left the pier. Círdan was also curious to find out more about his mysterious visitor. He had received a brief message from Linquendil saying that his ship would be arriving at Harlond soon with a visitor of some importance - someone sent to him by the Valar, who requested his assistance once again. Judging from the faint sound of Linquendil's voice in his head, Círdan had surmised that they was still a good distance away. It was well after sunset before he left for the piers and Círdan did not have to wait long before the white ship came into view. To see Linquendil at the rails had overjoyed him - they had not seen one another since the parting of the Teleri in the Years of the Trees. To see the woman standing with him had been unexpected. Even as Círdan studied her from the pier, he knew there was something different about her, something he could not quite place yet. 

Círdan leaned toward Ilmarë and spoke softly. ‘I know this is difficult for you, but you are not alone. I will do all that I can to help you. Now come, we should leave; I will take you to my home.’ 

Ilmarë let out a heavy sigh, reluctantly pulled her gaze from the water, and allowed Círdan to turn her toward the road. They followed the Elves carrying the trunks and left the piers as they made their way up the road leading away from the havens. 

Not far from the piers the road split and one side made a gradual curve back to the left and rose steadily up a small hill, toward the main part of the city. Círdan did not lead Ilmarë in that direction; instead they followed the road as it turned to the right, back toward the water. 

He walked slowly, allowing their companions to move farther ahead of them. Ilmarë broke the silence to ask a question. 

‘Why does Linquendil hate the Noldor?’ 

‘He did not tell you?’ 

Ilmarë hesitated before she answered. ‘Perhaps I knew at one time, but I do not remember now. On the journey here he told me of Fëanor’s deeds and the results of them, but he would not tell me why it angered him so.’ 

‘That he would not care to speak of it is understandable. I would not say he hates the Noldor, but he is still unable to forgive them or forget what was done,’ Círdan said and even if Ilmarë had not heard it in his voice, the sadness on his face was unmistakable. ‘Linwë…Linquendil,’ he corrected himself, ‘was with his father at Alqualondë when Fëanor and his people attacked. One of the stolen ships belonged to him, but that is not the reason for his anger.’ 

‘Fëanor returned to take the ships, and Linquendil fought against him at Olwë’s side. But even the two of them combined were no match for Fëanor.’ Círdan’s eyes closed and his lips pulled together in a straight line as he exhaled heavily through his nose. 

He opened his eyes to look at the road ahead and said, ‘When his father was wounded and fell, Linquendil threw himself down to take the finishing blow Fëanor intended for Olwë. He was slain protecting his father. His spirit passed to Mandos, but it was only for a short time. Although Linquendil’s body was restored, he cannot yet find it within himself to forgive. Not so much the wrong done to him, but what was done to his father and his people. There are many among the Lindai who hold ill feelings toward the Noldor, and they cannot be blamed. They have just cause.’ 

Ilmarë stared down at the road as they walked, reflecting upon what she had been told. _It is no wonder he holds such anger for them. And many Noldor have now returned to Aman…how many among the Lindai must face their own murderers? And what of the others who were slain by their own kind? What great mercy it must take to offer forgiveness for such a wrong. I cannot imagine…_ Then it was Círdan’s voice that broke the silence of their walk. 

‘What exactly do you mean when you say ‘perhaps you knew at one time’? You speak as though the knowledge had been lost,’ Círdan said after thinking back on her words. Then he added, ‘I do not wish to be forward… but would you be so kind as to first tell me your name?’ 

Ilmarë was embarrassed by her unwitting lack of manners. ‘I am sorry, Círdan; I thought Linquendil had told you.’ 

‘No… he sent his message from a distance, and so the details of it were not clear. I know that you have come from Valinor and were sent to me for help, but I was not told who you are or the reasons why.’ 

They had just come over a rise in the road and the water of the gulf was once again in view. Ilmarë’s eyes searched for the white ship but finding no sign of it, and still thinking of her friend’s pain and loss. She was distracted as she replied, ‘I have more than one name: Lúriel, Erinti, Telvissë… yet most know me as Ilmarë.’ 

Círdan felt a jolt of surprise and dropped his arm from her shoulders as he stopped to study her closely. ‘I beg your pardon, but did you say Ilmarë? I have heard tell of a Maia by that name, the handmaid of Varda and sister to Eönwë. Are you that being?’ 

She stopped walking, too, and her eyebrows drew together in a frown as she looked at him. _Sister?_ A fleeting thought came to her; a frustratingly vague memory of a comforting male presence who smiled as he called her name; his voice was soft but a current of strength and power echoed through it. Then the memory was gone as suddenly as it came, leaving only the marked sense of loneliness in its wake. When she did not disagree, Círdan was at a loss for words, which was not a thing that happened often. He shook his head slowly for a few moments before he spoke again. 

‘Forgive me, Ilmarë, I do not mean to be ill mannered but I am trying to understand this. That the Valar would send one of your kind as a messenger does not surprise me; I have spoken to Ossë myself on different occasions. But it does come as a shock that they would send you in this…’ his hand gestured toward her, ‘the body of a mortal woman and not one of the forms your kind creates for themselves. What reason could they possibly have to do this?’ 

Ilmarë’s thoughts were still on the revelation Círdan had given her. ‘This Eönwë you speak of, he is my brother?’ She felt guilty at asking and waved her hand at him. ‘Wait, no…do not tell me such things. The memories of my life in Aman have been concealed from me and most of my powers have been taken; it is the wish of the Valar.’ 

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to overcome her disappointment. Finally, she said, ‘Yes… I am the servant of Elentári, or Varda, as you call her; and I am of the Maiar.’ She nodded toward the road ahead and asked, ‘Is your home much further? If it is close by, I would prefer to wait until we reach it to tell you the rest, for I am growing tired. It has been difficult for me to grow accustomed to the feel of this body, especially the weaknesses and requirements that accompany it. ’ 

‘No, it is not much further; just over the next rise. This discussion can wait.’ Círdan surprised her again by laughing and shaking his head. ‘I have lived many years and seen many things, yet I am still amazed by the reasoning of the Valar…or the lack thereof.’

‘You should not speak of the Valar in that manner; they are wise and their wishes should be respected,’ Ilmarë said, yet her admonishment lacked sincerity for she herself had doubts about the wisdom of this decision. 

Círdan regarded her in silence, and for a brief moment his tall frame bent slightly, as if a great weight had settled upon it and a dark cloud of remembrance and regret shadowed him. Then it vanished and his handsome face was once again smiling and cheerful. The departure was so swift that Ilmarë questioned whether she had even truly seen it or if it had been only her imagination. 

‘Even the wise may err, Ilmarë,’ Círdan said. ‘Come, we will be on our way. You are tired and should rest.’ He put his arm around her shoulders again and they began walking, but at a faster pace than before. Without taking his eyes from the road in front of them, he said, ‘You must keep in mind that you are no longer in the Blessed Realm. Just as the lands here in Middle-earth are different so, too, are the ways by which we live. There are many who question the will of the Valar, and that is not so wrong a thing. Only Eru himself is beyond question.’ 

Ilmarë considered Círdan’s words, but before she could respond they topped the rise and he pointed toward the water. The road ended in front of a large white house. Light spilled out from the open front door and the Elves who had brought her trunks were already at the house and taking them inside. The house was only one story but spread out over a large area close to the shoreline. 

The others had finished their task of delivering the trunks and were leaving the house when Círdan and Ilmarë reached the front door. They both thanked the Elves and said goodnight, and Círdan turned to her. 

‘Welcome to my humble home, Ilmarë,’ he said and politely held his hand out toward the door. ‘It will be your home as well for a time, and I hope you will treat it as such.’ 

‘Thank you, Círdan.’ 

Ilmarë entered the house with Círdan close behind and he led her through the many rooms, telling her of the different areas as he showed her the house. She had not known what to expect of the dwellings in Middle-earth, but she soon found that Círdan’s home was anything but humble. It was quite beautiful, all the rooms bright and airy. 

Smooth, white stone walls were in every room, the same stone as the exterior. The floors were made of stone, as well; pale grey with a polished shine to it. In some of the rooms sets of large glass-paned doors had been left open to allow the evening air. The long, blue curtains covering them had been pushed partly aside and they made slow, lazy waves in the breezes drifting from the sea. 

Círdan led her to the largest room at the back of the house and pushed aside one of the curtains. Ilmarë looked out at the grassy yard that stretched out behind the house and then fell away to meet the sands of the seashore. She breathed deeply to take in the scent of the water and smiled to hear the sound of the waves. 

‘Whether it is the gentle splash of breaking waves or the crashing force of a storm, I find a sense of peace in the sound of the water,’ Círdan said as he leaned against the doorway and watched the waves roll up to the shore. ‘It is always soothing to me.’ 

He suddenly remembered that Ilmarë was weary. ‘I am sorry for keeping you, Ilmarë; you must be ready to sleep by now. I will show you to your room.’

‘Oh, I am tired, but I do not think I could sleep just yet. If you would be kind enough to show me a comfortable place to sit and rest, we can finish our earlier discussion.’ 

‘I would like that, if you are not too weary. Follow me, and I will find you a comfortable spot. Have you eaten? ’ 

Ilmarë followed Círdan as he left the doorway and walked across the room. She had not eaten that evening, and Linquendil informed her it was common for nervousness to cause a loss of appetite. Her appetite had still not returned and the thought of eating made her stomach tighten painfully as it had done her first night on the ship. 

‘Thank you, Círdan, but I am not hungry. No, a chair and something to drink are all I require at the moment.’ 

‘I should be able to see to that easily enough,’ Círdan said as they reached the end of a hallway and he pushed open the door in front of them. ‘To be quite honest, you are very fortunate in that you are not hungry. The household help I employ do not live with me; they have homes of their own. I would have been forced to prepare the food myself.’ He winked at her and smiled. ‘I assure you it would not have been palatable. I am no cook.’ 

They entered a room decorated in shades of green and blue with a large fireplace on the far end, and sets of open doors on either side of it. There was a small couch of deep blue and when Ilmarë sat down on it she let out a pleased sigh. The cushions were extremely soft compared to the furniture of the ship and it eased her tired body to sit in comfort. Círdan walked to the open doors and pulled them shut. 

‘The days are still warm, but the chill of autumn comes with the night air.’ He walked to a tall wooden cabinet and removed two glasses. ‘What would you prefer to drink, Ilmarë?’ 

‘It does not matter, Círdan,’ she replied as she sunk her body gratefully into the cushions of the couch, ‘whatever you are having will suit me.’ 

He chose some wine from the cabinet and brought the bottle and the glasses with him, placing them on the table in front of the couch as he sat down next to Ilmarë. She watched him open the wine and pour it. 

‘I will come directly to the point, for I wish to finish the story before I retire for the evening,’ Ilmarë said as she took the glass Círdan handed her, ‘I was sent here to gather information for the Valar concerning the state of affairs here in Middle-earth; and also to offer guidance or help if I am able. But direct interference is not allowed; I am merely to serve as counselor if need be.’

She sighed and shook her head sadly. ‘No more than half a millennia had passed after Morgoth’s defeat before the Valar sensed the Shadow had returned to these lands. When this became apparent they chose to bide time and watch; but the darkness has only increased and grown stronger. The Valar now feel a crossroads is near; a time when events shall come to pass that will decide if great good or an even greater evil will come again to Middle-earth.’ 

She had not realized how dry her mouth was until she paused to take a long drink of her wine. After her second drink she felt odd, and looked down at her body, where a tingling warmth was slowly spreading out through her stomach and limbs. 

_I assume I drank wine during my time in Aman for the taste of it is familiar to me, but this odd sensation is not. Perhaps my weariness is stronger this evening because I have not eaten today._ Círdan’s voice pulled her away from her musings. 

‘Yes, I know of this Shadow. An uneasiness settles on me from time to time although it is not any one thing I can put my finger on,’ Círdan said. ‘The Noldorin King, Gil-galad, has been greatly worried for hundreds of years now. More than six hundred years ago he sent a letter to Tar-Meneldur of Númenor requesting their aid. Gil-galad has sensed an evil, a servant of Morgoth stirring once again; and if we should be forced to defend ourselves we do not wish to stand alone against it.’ 

‘It is not a servant of Morgoth, but Morgoth himself who stirs; or, in truth, the power he put into Arda itself when he marked it with his taint.’ Ilmarë made a wide, sweeping gesture with her hand as she spoke. ‘That is the Shadow the Valar speak of and the lands of this world will never be free of it. It may sleep for a time, but it will always return, until the end of days. Now that the Shadow has fully awakened, their greatest concern is that it will reach out to Morgoth’s servants for they will be the ones most likely to respond to its call. There were powerful beings in service to him. It is the hope of the Valar that I may gain knowledge of which ones remain, for that is something unknown to them.’ 

Círdan nodded and was silent as he slowly sipped his wine. The Valar’s desire to assess the situation made sense to him, but he still could not see the sense in how they had chosen to go about it. 

‘That the Valar would wish to know how things fare in Middle-earth is understandable, yet why send you back in this form with no memory and the strength of your kind taken from you?’ He frowned as he held his hand out toward her. ‘Could you not create a form that would allow you to pass unnoticed here? It would be easier for you to gather this knowledge for them had you been allowed to keep your powers.’ 

She sat her empty wine glass on the table and thought about his question as Círdan filled her glass again. She had mentioned her doubts only to Linquendil, and likely would not have mentioned them to Círdan; but she felt oddly relaxed and calm, almost to the point of losing concentration on her thoughts. Ilmarë spoke freely, telling Círdan of the doubts that plagued her. 

‘In all honesty, I question this decision…I have questioned it since the second day of the journey, after I had fully come to my senses.’ She looked down at the glass Círdan had returned to her, staring into the dark red wine as she sorted through her thoughts. ‘I remember the Havens at Alqualondë and Varda speaking to me of what I was to do. The Valar took an oath amongst themselves that they would never again interfere with the lands or people of Middle-earth. They realized their mistake in taking the Elves from the lands the Creator had intended for them and they did not wish to repeat the error. That is why they took my memory and my powers; so I would not be tempted to use them to change events or to interfere. I am here merely as an observer and an advisor, more than that is forbidden. Varda explained the reasons for sending me, what I have just told you, and that I must do this alone.’ 

Ilmarë pointed behind her toward the doors and said, ‘Then the queen lit a star for me, a beacon. When its light is dimmed, I may leave these lands and return home.’ 

‘But why this body?’ Círdan asked again. ‘Will it age and die as mortals do?’ 

‘This body was meant to serve as a disguise, masking who and what I truly am, for my task must be done in secret lest the servants of Melkor discover my presence. I may tell no one, other than the few whom I choose to help me.’ Ilmarë waved her hand toward her face. ‘Perhaps the fact that I appear Númenorean is meant to serve as another facet of that disguise, and it will be assumed I have come from Númenor instead of Valinor. But I am not certain of that. I was told that this body will age very slowly, although not to the point of old age or loss of reason. It can be slain, but it would take injuries of a serious nature to do so.’ 

‘Do you not think it will be noticed if you live a lifetime greater than that of normal mortals, or even Númenoreans?’ 

‘I do not think I will be here long enough for that to be noticed,’ Ilmarë said, but then shrugged her shoulders, ‘although again, I am uncertain. There are so many things I do not know that it frightens me.’ 

She looked at Círdan with worry and leaned closer toward him. She felt an unreasonable fear that the Valar would hear her, although she knew full well they could not. Or at least she did not think they could. ‘When I awoke on the ship in this body, I was terrified. I had no idea who or where I was. Over the next several days what memory I had left slowly returned, but Linquendil and his crew had to teach me many things. I have become more used to this body but there is still much I do not know about it.’ 

She took a deep breath and said in almost a whisper, ‘Linquendil believes the Valar made a mistake. I am the first they have sent in this fashion and the Valar know nothing about mortals or their bodies, or how to use them to house a spirit of greater power. Linquendil fears they took more from me than was intended; that I was meant to have more knowledge and powers than this. Although he also believes that the Valar took my greater powers because they feared the possibility of my being turned by the Shadow, as Morgoth turned so many of my Order in the past. And if indeed I was corrupted, it would not matter as much because my powers are all but gone.’ 

‘I do not know how to go about this task,’ Ilmarë said and looked down again. ‘I do not know where to go from here…there is more that I do not know than what I do know. I do not even know why it is they chose to send me to you. I was only told that I was to come to Harlond, but I was not told why.’ 

There was a note of helplessness and defeat in her voice and Círdan only had to look at Ilmarë to know she felt lost and confused. He reached for the hand that lay in her lap and took it into his own. 

‘I believe I can answer that question, Ilmarë,’ Círdan said and waited for her to look up at him before he continued. ‘Did Linquendil tell you of when he lived here in the mortal lands, when he was known as Linwë?’ Ilmarë nodded, and he said, ‘He and I were of the same people, the Teleri. My people knew me as Nowë and Linquendil and his father were my kin. Thingol was my kin as well; and when he became lost, my father, my brother and I remained along with many other Elves to search for him. We were gone for much longer than we intended, but still did not find him. My father and brother would not leave these lands without Thingol, but they knew I did not wish to remain; I wanted to see the lands of Aman. And so my father gave me his blessings to return and go with the others. A group of Elves accompanied me back to the shores, but we found we had returned too late.’ 

Círdan looked toward the far wall as the memory unfolded in his mind; remembering standing on the beach, his eyes searching the night until he saw the distant lights on the island the Teleri rode upon as Ossë pulled them. 

‘I declared that I would build a ship myself and sail it across the waters to reach the island and join my people. But no sooner had I spoken the words aloud than I heard a voice in my head warning me not to undertake those plans for I had not the strength or the skill. Then the voice told me that if I chose to remain in these lands I would acquire strength and skill, and my skills would be of great importance one day. I agreed to remain and I still remain.’ He looked back at Ilmarë and smiled. 

‘Later it was revealed to me the voice I heard was that of Ulmo and it was the wish of the Valar that I stay. I completed the task they wished of me when I taught a young mariner named Eärendil the craft of shipbuilding and he used that ship to sail to Valinor. Yet when the task I had been shown in my vision was completed, I was asked again to remain for I was needed here; and again I agreed. There are times when I doubt the wisdom of that decision, but I believe in the end it will prove to be the right one.’ 

Círdan’s tale imparted a sense of relief to Ilmarë and now she returned his smile. ‘So I was sent here because you have already proven yourself to be trustworthy to those in Valinor?’ Círdan bowed his head with an air of exaggerated modesty and Ilmarë laughed, feeling her worries lighten. She quieted and a pleased look spread across her face. ‘Then you and I have a common bond for we are both emissaries of the Valar?’ 

‘That we are, Ilmarë,’ Círdan replied and he touched the side of his wine glass to hers, making a light ringing sound, ‘that we are.’ 

 

~*~ 

 

NOTES: 

***The Gray Havens: Twin cities on the northern and southern shores of the Gulf of Lhún, near to where the River Lhún entered the gulf. The country of Lindon was split into two parts by the gulf, the northern area of Forlindon and the southern area of Harlindon. Within these two areas were three smaller areas, Forlond which was in Forlindon and close to the sea, Harlond in the south, and Mithlond in Forlindon near the mouth of the river. I don’t know if these are the names of the cities at the piers of the Gray Havens, but for the sake of clarity I am referring to the northern city as Mithlond and the southern city as Harlond. I’m going by the map in the Atlas of Middle Earth. 

***Círdan’s history: In Peoples of Middle Earth, Last Writings, there is a small section on Círdan. All the information on Círdan’s past came from that, including the name Nowë, which is mentioned in the footnotes. The part about Linquendil is invented, of course, as is the part about Cirdan’s father and brother. It never mentions exactly how he’s related to Olwë and Elwë, but I wanted to give the poor guy a few close family members.

***Eönwë and Ilmarë: That she was Eonwe’s sister is only mentioned when Professor Tolkien was playing around with the idea of the Valar having children. (BoLT 1 and Morgoth’s Ring) I’ve got plans for that later in the story when she starts to regain her memories of Valinor. 

*** Lindai: Telerin – ‘Singers’. The name the Teleri use for themselves.


	5. Chapter  Four

Chapter Four 

 

Ilmarë watched in amusement as Círdan lifted the glass of wine to his mouth and drained the contents of it in one long drink. She followed suit and although she had less wine in her glass, it took more time for her to finish. She leaned forward to put the glass on the table and swayed slightly, the spinning in her head forcing her to close her eyes. Círdan reached to grab her shoulders and studied her with concern. 

“Ilmarë, have you not drunk wine before?” he asked. 

She opened her eyes and found the worried look on his face oddly amusing. A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “Of course I have,” Ilmarë replied, trying to control her laughter but having little success. “Although I cannot say I recall it making me feel so warm and relaxed before.” 

Círdan could not help but smile as he waited for her to take a breath. “Well then,” he said when she paused, “I take it you have drunk wine since taking this mortal form?” 

Ilmarë’s laughter slowed and she tried to concentrate enough to remember. “No, I do not believe I have. I assume I drank wine while in Valinor because the taste is familiar to me, but perhaps I was wrong because these strange sensations are not familiar to me at all.” The sudden realization of what she had said sobered her a little and she looked at Círdan with wide eyes. 

“Oh… the wine affects your bodies this way? Remarkable…” she said absently as she considered again the pleasant, relaxed feeling she was experiencing. Another realization came to her. “But Círdan…you drank more than I did and you do not seem affected.” 

“If you please…” Círdan assumed an indignant air, “it would take a good deal more than that to inebriate me. There are few mortals or Elves who can drink more than I can.” Then he looked at her and smiled guiltily. “Of course, I did have a few glasses of wine before I met your ship at the pier, so I do feel perhaps a little light headed.” He gave her a serious look and shook his finger at her. “But only slightly, mind you.” 

This only served to set Ilmarë off into laughter again. Círdan sat his glass down and stood, holding his hand out to her. 

“It is time for you to retire, Ilmarë. I dare say you will have little trouble sleeping now.” 

She took his hand and rose from the couch. This time she swayed markedly and Círdan reached for her again, slipping his arm around her waist to keep her from falling. His hand rested on the curve of her waist just above her hip. The thrilled sensation she felt earlier when his lips touched her hand now returned, but with more force. Though she was unaware these feelings were evident on her face, she was aware of his hand suddenly tightening on her waist as he returned her stare. 

Círdan cleared his throat and turned away. “Come, Ilmarë, I will show you to your room. It is best if you slept now.” 

They walked across the house and down another hallway until Círdan stopped and opened one of the doors. He guided her inside the room and though many pieces of beautiful furniture filled the room, Ilmarë’s weary eyes were drawn directly to the large bed enclosed with heavy embroidered curtains that draped down from the canopy and grazed the floor. The sight of the bed reminded her of the weighted, exhausted feel of her body and at that moment she wanted nothing more than to sleep. Reluctantly, she left Círdan’s arms and carefully walked to her trunks, now sitting on the floor near the bed. 

“This is the bedroom I will be staying in?” Ilmarë asked as she carelessly sorted through the trunk. She finally pulled out a thin white nightgown and walked over to the bed. 

“Yes, if it suits you,” Círdan said, watching Ilmarë lay her gown on the bed. “My room is at the end of the hall. I thought you would be more comfortable with someone close by.” He walked to the trunk she had left open and bent down to replace the scattered clothing and close the lid. 

Ilmarë removed her shoes and unfastened the back of her dress. As she pulled it off her shoulders and down her arms, she thought only of how heavy her body felt and how tired the wine had made her. “Thank you, Círdan,” she said with a sigh as she pushed the dress down past her hips, “you are very thoughtful.”

“I will have the help unpack your things tomorrow,” he said as he closed the latch on the trunk and stood. “You can tell…” he halted abruptly when he caught sight of Ilmarë. She let the dress slide down her legs and it pooled on the floor around her feet. 

He watched in silence as she lifted the nightgown from the bed and raised it over her head. Círdan’s breathing quickened and his eyes followed the sheer material cascading down her body, slowing at her hips and ending in a white, silken wave that covered her legs. She picked the dress up from the floor and was laying it across the end of the bed when she finally noticed Círdan’s silence. Ilmarë turned toward him and the weight of his gaze on her body struck her like a blow, driving the somnolence from her. Shivers traced teasing fingers down her back again, brought on by merely the touch of his eyes on her skin. Warmth roared to life inside her stomach and expanded until it spilled out of the confines of her abdomen, flooding her lower body. 

“I am sorry, Círdan,” she said softly as she walked toward him, now completely alert and drawn by some urging need to be closer. “I did not think about making you uncomfortable. I know it is appropriate to wear clothing in public, but I am used to undressing in the privacy of my room. Only Linquendil entered my room and I thought nothing of changing out of my clothes in front of him.” 

“Linquendil saw you this way?” Círdan brought his searching gaze up to her face and she stopped moving, leaving some distance between them. 

“Yes, several times, but it could not be helped. I had no one else to teach me how to clothe myself properly,” Ilmarë answered. 

Her voice sounded breathless to her ears and only then did she notice how difficult it was to draw a full breath. She thought it was perhaps due to the way her body had suddenly become taut and tense. When Círdan spoke he sounded short of breath as well.

“Then no others have seen you like this?” Círdan moved closer now and closed the short distance between them. He knew he was taking liberties with Ilmarë too soon after just having met her, asking these questions, but he felt the need to know if she understood what she had done… undressing in front of him. If she understood what she was doing by looking at him this way - the way she had looked at him when he touched her waist. 

The first night on the ship crossed her mind briefly but she dismissed it. Yes, the sailors had seen her nude, but they had not seen her like this; she had not undressed in front of them. She did not care to spend time explaining it at the moment, not when these sensations coursed through her body and the nearness of Círdan’s body only heightened them. 

“No, no others,” she replied at last. 

Círdan raised his hand and caught Ilmarë off guard when he ran his fingers down her cheek in a light caress. She closed her eyes and gasped with the pleasure that just the tips of his fingers on her skin stirred within her.

“No others have touched you like this?” he asked hoarsely for his throat had closed tightly shut when he saw Ilmarë’s lips part as she gasped. There was no question in his mind that he should not be doing this, but still he longed to touch her and did not want to pull away.

“No, none but you,” Ilmarë answered and rubbed her cheek against his fingers. She opened her eyes and met Círdan’s silver gaze. A powerful yearning seized her, although for what she did not know. 

His fingers left her face, replaced by the palm of his hand pressed warmly against her cheek and he gently traced a path down to the skin of her neck. She wanted to return his touch but her inexperience filled her with doubt. 

“Círdan…I have been told of intimacy between men and women…” Linquendil had explained it in general terms to her, but for some reason, it did not seem appropriate to Ilmarë that she mention his name at that moment. Nor did it seem appropriate to say that he had not fully explained what was expected on her part. “If that is what this is, then I do not know where to begin or what I should do…” 

Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell to his lips, remembering the feel of them against her hand and wondering what feelings they could give to other places on her body…the body that was spilling over with rioting sensations, so much that she could scarcely remember to breathe. Ilmarë raised her hand to his face. She lightly ran her fingers across the soft skin of his mouth and moved close enough for their bodies to touch. Círdan shuddered, encouraging her to caress his cheek as he had done to hers.

“Teach me…please,” Ilmarë whispered as she raised her eyes to meet his. 

Despite his struggles not to let his desire get the better of him, her whispered request proved to be the only persuasion he required. With a swift movement, his hand flew to the back of her neck and swept her close, allowing him to seize her mouth with his own. 

Círdan meant for the kiss to be soft but he could not hold himself back enough to be gentle. His mouth slid across hers with unrestrained pressure as his arm encircled her and held her fast. A moan escaped Ilmarë and her hand clutched reflexively on his shoulder, showing Círdan that she enjoyed the passionate response. With tremendous effort, he pulled back far enough to look down at her. 

“You are wrong to say you do not know where to begin…” Círdan said softly, his words mingled with the light kisses he continued to place on her lips, “…intimacy between a man and a woman may begin with something as simple as a shared look… a look that speaks of longing. Such as the look we shared when I first saw you on the ship or the look you gave when my hand touched your waist. This…” Círdan said and kissed her again, “…that is a kiss, but there are different types of kisses, Ilmarë.”

“There are chaste kisses…” and he lightly brushed his lips against hers, “…and there are kisses between lovers which bring greater intimacy.” 

Ilmarë had begun moving her body impatiently against Círdan’s as she listened to him talk, and now his hand slid further up the back of her neck and he wove his fingers through her hair. Círdan held her head firmly as he opened her lips with his tongue. When his tongue ran across hers, she stopped moving completely. Her body tensed with the unexpected pleasure surging through her body, but she required no more than a brief moment to recover from the shock. Círdan almost lost his balance when Ilmarë pushed her weight against him and began moving her tongue across his in return. 

Círdan pulled his mouth away again and kept his eyes closed as he tried to regain some level of control, but Ilmarë’s hands made the effort very difficult for him. Her delicate fingers stroked his neck and she delighted in the way his smooth skin felt. He opened his eyes to find Ilmarë watching her hands as she ran them down his neck, stopping where it curved to meet his shoulders. 

“You clearly have some idea of what to do, for you are touching me and that is what I want…to feel your hands on my skin, your lips on mine…” his voice trailed off and his mouth took hers again. He released her lips to say, “There are many ways to touch one another. I can touch your mind…your heart… your body…” 

When his voice trailed off again Círdan lowered his face to hers and kissed her. Ilmarë reveled in the feeling of his tongue in her mouth and the feel of his skin beneath her hands. The sensations overtook her so quickly that she had little time to think about these completely foreign reactions. 

Círdan’s hand left her back and slid around her body, coming to rest on her breast and squeezing it gently. Her head came up abruptly and a sudden cry burst from her.

Círdan pulled his hands away from her. Bereft of the dizzying sensations of his touch, Ilmarë protested desperately. 

“No, Círdan…” she said huskily as she opened her eyes to look at him, “do not take your hands away yet.” She saw that his hands had left only to pull his robe open. 

“Only for a moment, Ilmarë,” he said and smiled gently at the sight of her flushed face and glazed eyes. He pushed the robe off his shoulders and allowed it to fall to the floor. 

He took her hands and led her to the bed. `Are you certain you want this lesson to continue?” 

Ilmarë slid her arms around his neck again and smiled up at him. She brushed her lips across his and softly said, “Continue.” 

“You learn swiftly, Ilmarë,” he breathed against her ear. 

Círdan put his arms around Ilmarë and supported her head and back as he eased her onto the bed, lowering himself at the same time and carefully resting his weight on her. Something hard pressed against her thigh but before she could ask what it was Círdan kissed her again, the movements of his tongue drawing another moan from her. 

Then, in an abrupt movement, Círdan pulled completely away from her. He sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her, taking deep breaths and shaking his head. 

“I cannot do this, Ilmarë…I am sorry.” 

She watched him in silence, trying to understand why he had pulled away. Her mind still swam with the excitement of Círdan’s touch. She had not known mortal bodies could experience such a level of pleasure and she did not want it to end. Ilmarë slowly sat up next to Círdan and studied him for a moment before she spoke. 

“Is it that you do not find this body attractive, Círdan?” she asked without anger, wanting only to understand what had upset him. “Because it is Mortal and not Elf?” 

He looked up long enough to frown at her. “No, Ilmarë, it is not that. I have been attracted to Mortal women, and your form is very beautiful. I can say with complete honesty that you are the most beautiful woman I have known.” He brushed her cheek with his hand as he spoke, but pulled it away quickly as though he were afraid to touch her again. 

Ilmarë eyed him suspiciously, thinking Círdan was trying to save her feelings by speaking of her beauty. Then she remembered the men who had watched her appreciatively during her stay on Númenor and this brought her to the conclusion that Elves and Mortals clearly had lower standards of beauty than those in Valinor. If her unattractiveness was not the reason for his withdrawal then what was? 

“You do not enjoy teaching me of these things,” she said and nodded in understanding, thinking she had found the reason for his withdrawal. “Your body does not feel this yearning that fills my body.” 

“That is not the reason.” Círdan raised his hand to her face again and left it on her cheek as he spoke. “I would like nothing more than to teach you everything you wish to know and the yearning I have for you is very strong.”

“Then we can continue.” Ilmarë smiled and leaned toward him, but Círdan rested his hand on her shoulder and held her back.

“No, we cannot.” 

“I do not understand, Círdan.” She was becoming frustrated, made worse by her disappointment. “First you say I am beautiful and you yearn for me, then you say you cannot continue touching me even though it is what you want. I would like to know the explanation for this.” She pulled his hand away from her face and waited for him to speak. 

“You must understand, Ilmarë, I want very much to give you what you ask…but if I am to teach you of the ways of lovers then I must teach them all.” Círdan sighed and ran a hand through his long, silver hair, showing that he was disappointed by the situation as well. “You were told of intimacy between men and women, but were you told of the rules that govern those relationships?” 

Ilmarë shook her head and had no idea what rules he spoke of. 

Círdan took a breath and said, “Each race and culture of Middle-earth has their own rules, and some races have more than one set of beliefs. The Elves are one of the races with differing beliefs about such things. When the Noldor returned from Valinor they brought with them the belief that the joining of the bodies signifies marriage…a lifelong commitment. But…” he gestured toward himself, “those of us who stayed in Middle-earth and did not journey to Aman - the Grey Elves we are called – we do not believe this way. That marriage is a lifelong commitment, yes…but not that a man and a woman laying together means they are married. For us, marriage is achieved when vows are exchanged.” 

“If this will not result in our marriage, then why do you stop?” Ilmarë asked, still not understanding his reasons. 

“Because we also believe that this intimacy should not take place merely because of the needs of the body…this yearning you feel, it is called desire. Elves feel desire but we are not swayed by it as easily as Mortals tend to be…or so I have been told.” Círdan frowned with worry and ran his thumb across her cheek. “The Grey Elves believe…I believe…that to share yourself with another it should be for a greater reason than just desire. Two people should feel love for one another before the joining of bodies. I desire you and I care for you…but I am sorry, Ilmarë, I do not love you. Not yet.” 

He frowned as he watched her and Ilmarë realized Círdan expected her to be upset by his admission. “From your expression, I gather that women who are told a man did not love them would be distraught in some way. Would only women be affected or would men be grieved to hear this as well?” she asked curiously.

“Then you are not angry with me?” Círdan asked with relief and when Ilmarë shook her head he smiled. “Yes, most women would be very upset to hear that, and I expect most men as well.” His hand left her face and he took her hand and held it. 

“I am disappointed,” Ilmarë said with honesty, “and I am unhappy that my body still yearns, but I am not angry with you. To not allow oneself to be driven by desire seems wise, but to control something so powerful is exceedingly difficult.” She shrugged her shoulders and felt embarrassed to admit her ignorance. “Although I now know what desire is, I do not fully understand what you mean by love. I have been told what it is and the idea of it is clear, yet I have no experience with it.” 

“Nothing was mentioned of my being espoused to anyone, and for some reason I feel certain I was not. If there was one in Valinor for whom I felt love, it is among the memories hidden from me,” Ilmarë said and let out a long sigh. “Then if I must wait until I feel love for another before I am able to fulfill these desires will there at least be some sign to tell me of it?” 

“There are different levels of love, Ilmarë,” Círdan answered, searching for the right words, “and it comes about in different ways. Some know they are in love from the moment they meet and for others it takes many years. I cannot explain it to you - I have not found it myself. I have loved others enough to be intimate with them, yet not enough for marriage. But I have been assured that when you feel enough love that you wish to remain with another for the full of your life, you will know beyond all doubt.” 

Círdan noted that their discussion had calmed Ilmarë’s passion. Her face was no longer flushed and her breathing had slowed to normal. However, his desire had not subsided and he was irrationally irritated at this. Even if he did not already know what lay beneath her nightdress, the thin material left little to the imagination. To watch her body shift beneath it with each movement she made was trying his resolve. He released her hand and left the bed to pick his robe up from the floor. 

“There is no need to discuss this now,” Círdan said, putting his arms back into the sleeves of his robe, “you cannot learn everything about intimacy in one evening. We will have time to discuss this further during your stay here with me.” 

Ilmarë frowned as she watched him, not liking the distant, nervous behavior. She did not want him to be uneasy around her and treat her differently because of what they had shared…or not shared. She left the bed, too, and walked to Círdan with a smile, hoping that if she jested with him it would lighten his mood and make him less angered at her. Truth be known, she was curious about something but had not the nerve to ask it during their discussion. Asking it in jest would provide a suitable excuse…

“Círdan, when you lay against me on the bed something firm pressed against my leg,” she said with what she hoped was an innocent expression. “Does the firmness I felt have something to do with the physical differences between men and women?” 

Círdan started to answer, but closed his mouth only to open it again. “Well, I…what I mean is…” His mouth continued to work itself in his loss for words, reminding Ilmarë of the fish the sailors had caught from the ship. The thought forced her to swallow her threatening laughter. 

“Could you provide me with a description of this male firmness? I admit, curiosity has gotten the better of me and there are none but you whom I can ask,” she said and glanced at the front of his pants, hoping the teasing would lighten his mood and that perhaps she would indeed garner the information from him. 

It had taken a few moments but Círdan caught on to Ilmarë’s tone of voice and poorly suppressed amusement. Deciding to turn her jest to his advantage, he assumed an accepting air and moved his hands to the waist of his trousers. 

“Describing it would be far too difficult,” he said with a shrug. “It would be much easier just to show you - but only a quick look. I would not want to overwhelm you.” 

Círdan made as though he would unfasten his trousers and Ilmarë gasped as she threw her hand up to cover her eyes. For some reason the thought of seeing his more masculine parts unnerved her and was far more information than she had expected. 

“I did not mean it, Círdan. It was only a jest,” Ilmarë spluttered in embarrassment and Círdan laughed heartily at her discomfort. She attempted to glower at him but she could not help but smile at having her teasing come back on her. She was thankful at least that he was no longer distant with her. 

“Will what happened between us affect your having a friendship with me, Círdan?” Ilmarë worried that once his laughter had passed, he would be uncomfortable with her again. 

“No, it will not. I will always be your friend,” Círdan said, running his hand down her cheek again. “Our friendship may or may not become something stronger, but I assure you it will never go away.” He leaned forward intending to give her a small kiss but thought better of it, not wanting to lose the hard-won control over his desire. “You will have to forgive me, but I think it best if I did not kiss you good night. Sleep well, Ilmarë.”

Ilmarë nodded and watched Círdan walk to the door. With a final smile for her, he closed the door behind him and she heard the latch click into place. The excitement brought on by the desire had fled her body and with it went what little energy she had left. Ilmarë trudged wearily back to the bed and barely had time to crawl beneath the covers before her mind started drifting into sleep. Her final thought was of how thankful she was for the wine and the weariness. They kept her from having to lie in bed and reflect on the intense disappointment she still felt from Círdan’s withdrawal and rejection of her. 

~*~ 

 

_Except for the occasional colorful bird flying overhead, the beach at Avallónë was peaceful and deserted. Normally, Ilmarë would have enjoyed the solitude but today it grated on her already impatient state of mind. She paced back and forth on the shore by the piers and continuously checked the position of the sun in the sky. A silvery powder flew up from her bare feet with every anxious step she took and hung in the air behind her like a glittering mist. The water of the harbor she kept her keen eyes upon was clear sapphire blue and the sun she kept close watch upon reflected brightly off the water, the silvery sand, and the high alabaster tower that rose above the harbor, creating the illusion that some magical, early twilight danced over the bay. But all of this beauty escaped Ilmarë’s notice; the only sight she wished to greet her had yet to appear._

_As her eyes scanned the water again they caught a flash of white. Ilmarë looked at it closely for she had been tricked by a high wave earlier, but in the next instant she was certain her wish had at last arrived. A white boat with tall white sails rounded the end of the peninsula that stretched out beyond the bay and into the water, and headed for the harbor. Now Ilmarë’s impatience became anticipation and she pressed her hands together, resting them against her lips almost as though she were in prayer as she watched the swiftly approaching Elven ship._

_The white ship did not take long to traverse the enchanted waters and soon Ilmarë was running down the long, white pier, the wooden boards making a hollow noise as her bare feet hit them. Linquendil was helping a beautiful, dark-haired Elf onto the pier who barely had time to set her feet down and turn around before Ilmarë reached her, throwing herself at the Elf and wrapping her in a tight embrace._

_“Melian, you have arrived at last. I could scarce believe it when Linquendil spoke to me from afar saying you were returning with him. Your absence has been sorely felt…I have missed you,” Ilmarë said and felt her friend return the embrace. “I am so happy you have returned.” She felt the sadness that cloaked the light of Melian’s spirit, and Ilmarë held her tighter. “Yet I wish it had been a more joyful return for you.”_

_“As do I, Ilmarë,” Melian said at last and raised her head. “Look at you…you are more beautiful than I remember, and I did not think that possible.” Her smile chased away some of the grief surrounding her. “I feel very plain next to you.”_

_Ilmarë sighed at the modesty in the words. “No matter what form housed your spirit, Melian, plain is something you could never be.” She waved her hand toward her body and said, “This is the same form I wore when you last saw me. I have dwelled within it for so many years that I do not notice it anymore.”_

_“When I arrived at the Halls of Mandos and my body was renewed I asked Námo where to find you. It was he who told me that you now made your home on Eressëa and I came here straightaway.” Melian frowned and asked, “You remained in this form all the time I have been gone?” Ilmarë nodded slowly, knowing her friend would disapprove. “Then it is true you have not returned to Valinor since the death of the Trees?”_

_“No, I have not, and I note you did not stay there long either.” Ilmarë’s expression grew saddened and she looked over Melian’s shoulder, out toward the sea where it met the sky in twin layers of blue, and said, “The things in those lands that I loved above all were taken from me. There is nothing for me there.”_

_“That is something I understand all too well,” Melian said softly._

_Ilmarë felt selfish for thinking of her own losses instead of Melian’s. “Did you find Thingol before you left Mandos?”_

_“No, I was not allowed,” Melian replied shortly. Ilmarë opened her mouth to speak, but Melian spoke again before she could. “I do not wish to speak of it now, Ilmarë. I am weary after my trip and I wish to rest. Will you show me to your home?” As an afterthought, she added, “Does Eönwë dwell here with you?”_

_“Yes, for the most part,” Ilmarë said, pulling out of Melian’s arms. She took Melian’s hand and led her down the piers. “He does spend time in Valinor, as well, for he does not like to serve the Valar from afar as I do. Elentári comes to stay with us at times.”_

_Over her shoulder, Ilmarë caught sight of Linquendil on the pier and greeted him warmly. “Welcome home, Linquendil,” she called, “will you accompany us?”_

_His face creased into a smile and he waved. “I must tend to the ship, but I will be by shortly to see that our new guest is settled.”_

_Ilmarë and Melian left the pier, taking a road of white sand and smooth silver stones that began just beyond the piers. They held hands, making their way up the road toward the grassy hills rising above the harbor. As they walked, Melian inhaled the air deeply; its purity refreshed her, cleansing her spirit and mind as her body filled with it._

_“Linquendil told me of Eressëa on the journey here,” Melian told Ilmarë as she looked around. “He told me of the Land of the Elms, and of Gilfanon’s house with one hundred chimneys that sits near the bridge of Tavrobel, which I would very much like to see. But Linquendil’s tale of the Olórë Mallë caught my attention most of all, and where it ends at the Cottage of Lost Play…I want to hear the laughter of children again, Ilmarë.”_

_“I will take you there whenever you wish.” She would have promised anything to drive away the sadness that had returned to Melian’s face. When they crested the hill Ilmarë smiled in relief to see Melian’s joy at the sight greeting them._

_A majestic white mountain rose out of the southwest, and even from a distance it towered over the forests filled with trees of gold, silver and red. A silvery mist covered the higher slopes of the mountain and the summit was lost in the clouds, well out of sight._

_“Taniquetil,” Melian said, her breath catching as she spoke. “It is good to be home.”_

_Ilmarë smiled and pulled on Melian’s hand, encouraging her to continue down the road. Soon they reached Ilmarë and Eönwë’s impressive home set close to the sea, the blue of the water an attractive backdrop for the silver-dusted gray stone of which the house was built. Eönwë was gone to Valinor, and Ilmarë and Melian spent the next several weeks together. Melian’s spirit lifted some and she found enjoyment in the large gardens surrounding the house, in particular, the many beds of lissuin. This did not surprise Ilmarë, for she well knew the fragrance of the flower eased a troubled heart and the scent had soothed her own troubles for many years._

_One evening not long before sunset, Ilmarë and Melian sat on the silver shores while Melian wove a wreath for herself of the flowers, pausing occasionally to admire the dewy red petals of the lissuin. Taking into consideration the change in Melian’s behavior in the past weeks, Ilmarë thought it safe to broach the subject Melian had avoided up to that point._

_“Melian, why did you leave Middle-earth while your daughter still lived? Did you not wish to spend what last years she had together?”_

_Ilmarë watched in disappointment as the joy on Melian’s face dimmed and she sensed her friend’s withdrawal. Any time Ilmarë asked of these things Melian fell silent and refused to speak of Lúthien or anything that had gone on in Middle-earth. Ilmarë sighed and watched the water, trying to think of something else to talk about, for she knew Melian would remain silent until a new subject was offered._

_At the sound of Melian’s voice, Ilmarë’s head snapped up in disbelief._

_“Doriath was doomed to destruction,” Melian said softly as she gazed out over the water, and the weight of her choice was evident in her face. “Its fate was sealed with the death of Thingol and the course could not be changed. Had I remained I would have met my death as well. What purpose would that serve? I have seen enough death and suffering and I wish to see no more.”_

_Melian hesitated, but then her head dropped and her voice was little more than a whisper. “To sit with Thingol’s body and feel it empty of his spirit was the greatest pain I have ever known.” Ilmarë heard Melian’s voice catch and several minutes passed before she spoke again. “But my pain is eased, for I know that after his time in the Halls of Mandos his body will be returned and we will be together again. Our parting is a passing sorrow. To see Lúthien’s body after the spirit has fled is something I cannot bear to witness. She is held now to the Gift of Men and will never return. I want to remember Lúthien’s life, not her death. The sight of her stilled body is a memory I will not have.”_

_Melian looked at Ilmarë and sighed, “It is a weakness only a mother could understand.”_

_Ilmarë moved closer to Melian and slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders. “I understand loss, Melian, but my loss seems insignificant in the face of your pain. I do not judge you, my friend. To lose a child is beyond recompense.”_

_Melian rested her head against Ilmarë’s shoulder. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her smile was wry and spoke of irony. “The time when I was known as Tindriel and you were known as Melinárë is very distant now. It seemed as though no sadness could touch us in Almaren.”_

_“Do not say that name. To be called Melinárë holds no fond memories for me,” Ilmarë bit out in sudden anger, and immediately regretted her sharp tone. “Forgive me, Melian, but the thought of my happiness then only brings greater pain to me now.” She rested her head against Melian’s and pushed the grief rising in her throat back down into the cold recesses of her heart, where it had been hidden for so many years._

_“I saw him once… in the dark hours following the death of the Trees,” Melian said hesitantly and felt Ilmarë stiffen at the words. She did not know if she should continue._

_“What did he...” Ilmarë began, “…did he speak to you?” A nervous fear clutched her as she waited for Melian’s answer._

_“Not with words, no…he stood upon a high mountain far away, but in the darkness I could see the fire of his spirit even from afar. When I touched his thoughts he was terrified - he feared for you… for your safety. Morgoth’s actions had caught him unaware, he had not foreseen what would happen. None of us had. He worried for you and the loss of Telperion…he did not know if you were near the Trees when Ungoliant…” Melian’s voice broke off and she did not finish. There was no need._

_“His thoughts were of me?” Ilmarë asked and hope rose within her despite her attempts to quell it._

_“I begged him to return to Valinor, telling him it was not too late to repent and ask for mercy from the Valar. I told him how you suffered without him and for a brief moment, I thought he would agree.” Melian’s voice became hard with her anger at the memory. “But once again he turned his pain into rage and he mocked me, saying he had no need to return to Valinor; his pursuits were there in Middle-earth. He said you made your choice when you refused his pleas and forced him to leave Valinor alone.”_

_As Melian’s anger increased, so did the volume of her voice. “Before he disappeared into the darkness I cursed him as the coward that he was and I named him for the cruel being his selfish resentment had made him. I named him…”_

_“Please,” Ilmarë said quickly and shook her head against Melian’s, “I know the name, Melian. Please do not say it. I cannot bear to hear it.”_

_The anger only served to increase Melian’s tears and the unceasing grief she felt at the loss of her family._

_Ilmarë held her tightly and said, “You should go to Valinor for a time, Melian, take your rest in the gardens of Estë and allow her to give you comfort, for you are in sore need of it.”_

_“I will go,” Melian answered, “if you will go with me. You cannot hide on Eressëa until the end of days, Ilmarë. You have not escaped your pain; it has followed you here.”_

_Ilmarë sighed, knowing to argue was futile. Melian had always been very persuasive and stubborn and Ilmarë had always given in to her. Yet Ilmarë would have conceded regardless. If her presence would ease Melian’s pain, she would go with her…though Ilmarë knew she would pay a price for the kindness._

_“Very well, for you I will go. In the morning we will ask Linquendil to take us.” Ilmarë gave a small laugh and added, “This will please Linquendil and Eönwë to no end. They have tried to convince me to return for a very long while.”_

_They sat together in silence, watching the sky grow dark and the stars appear one by one to assume their respective places in the twilit terrain._

_~*~_

_Ilmarë awoke suddenly and sat up. The sound of the waters of Eressëa still echoed in her ears and for a moment she could not place where she was. Then it came to her – the waters she heard were those surrounding the Grey Havens and she was in her bed, in Círdan’s home. She lay her head back down on the pillow and sleep came quickly. But before it did, the words Melian had spoken to her on the ship echoed through her mind…._

_You will have dreams once you arrive in these new lands; pay close attention to them and know what you see in them is true. In this way, I will send what help I can…_

~*~ 

 

NOTES: 

****Melinárë: Quenya – ‘Lover of fire’ 

****Tindriel: One of the considered names of Melian, BoLT 1. 

****Almaren: The area of land in Middle-earth where the Valar originally lived, before Elves or Men were awakened. They erected two large lamps to light the lands, but Melkor/Morgoth destroyed them and the Valar left Middle-earth and built Valinor. 

**** Estë: Melian was a Maia who served both Vána and Estë. Vána was a Valar, wife of Oromë, primarily concerned with plants and animals. Estë, wife of Irmo, was the Valar who healed all sorrows and injuries in Valinor.

***The Land of the Elms, the House of 100 Chimneys, Gilfanon, The Bridge of Tavrobel, the Olóre Mallë or the Path of Dreams, and the Cottage of Lost Play – All of these are from the Book of Lost Tales, the first book in the History of Middle Earth series by Christopher Tolkien. These were early details Professor Tolkien had worked out for his mythology and later abandoned, but the descriptions of the lands of Tol Eressëa are very charming, and unfortunately some of the only ones that are given of those lands. 

***The habitation of Tol Eressëa: Some people think that Eressëa was abandoned after the Teleri left for Valinor and Avallónë was not built until after the Noldor arrived at the end of the First Age. That is not my opinion, however, and I also like to think not all the Teleri left. Some also hold the belief that Eressëa was under continual twilight. The Silmarillion says that the sun passed over and lit even Valinor for a time each evening. Eressëa was quite a ways east of Valinor. So again, just my personal opinion that there were sunrises and sunsets on the Lonely Isle. 

****Laws and Customs of the Eldar: In Morgoth’s Ring, volume 12 in the History of Middle Earth series, there is a section concerning the laws and customs of the Eldar.

Personally, I think Laws and Customs was something that was abandoned because there were things in it that just didn’t gel. But even if it were something applicable, Christopher Tolkien says that the noted title indicates Aelfwine wrote these observations. So that leads me to believe that he wrote this after being around the Elves in Aman. That’s how I’m going to use it here, as a different belief for different cultures type situation, just like our religious and social beliefs today. Some believe one way, some believe another, but boy, doesn’t most everybody think theirs is right and everyone else’s is wrong? I wanted to use this to create some political and social tension with the clash of beliefs.


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five 

 

‘But why, Círdan?’ Ilmarë protested unhappily as she followed him through the open doors and outside into the yard. ‘Why must I leave? I do not wish to live in the King’s mansion. It will be busy and noisy and not to my taste at all…not quiet and comfortable like it is here.’ 

Círdan stopped next to a rough stone bench facing the waters. ‘Ilmarë, it is simply not a good idea for you to stay here alone with me,’ he said as he sat, taking her hand and pulling her to sit next to him. 

Ilmarë sighed loudly. She had grown accustomed to Círdan’s constant presence in the weeks since her arrival to Lindon and did not like the thought of leaving. The awkward moments they had felt in the days after their first night together disappeared as their friendship grew. The time had been put to good use with Círdan teaching Ilmarë of Middle-earth and its lands and people, and there were many days when she accompanied him to the piers while he went about his daily tasks. She felt comfortable at Círdan’s home. Leaving for Mithlond would mean another dwelling and another group of people to become familiar with, and the thought left Ilmarë unhappy. 

Ilmarë looked at the ground and pulled a strand of hair between her fingers. She twisted it tightly around her finger and then loosened it to allow her to twist it again. Círdan watched her repetitive motions while she stared blankly toward the ground and he knew she was troubled. He had noticed this gesture since the day after her arrival, always when she was nervous or worried. He wondered if it were something she had done before taking this mortal form because it seemed to be an unthinking gesture born of habit. 

‘What is it, Ilmarë? I did not expect you to be so bothered by the thought of going to Mithlond,’ Círdan said, turning her to face him. ‘Or is it something more than that?’ 

Ilmarë sighed yet again. They had not spoken of what happened the night she arrived and Ilmarë had been thankful for that. She felt the situation had been her fault and she had led Círdan to do something out of character, but the thought of asking him about it made her very nervous. 

‘Does my leaving have anything to do with what happened between us? If so, then I am sorry. I should have offered apologies sooner, but you did not bring it up and I did not have the courage to. Are you angry with me for causing you to do something you would not have otherwise?’ Ilmarë smiled in relief when Círdan grinned and began to laugh. 

‘You did not cause me to do anything. In fact, my only abnormal behavior is that I have not finished what was started that night. In any other circumstance, I would have acted upon those feelings by now,’ Círdan said and pulled the lock of hair from between her fingers so he could untangle the black strands. ‘But it would not be right; first, because you were sent to me for help and I look upon you as my charge, and second, because I believe we make much better friends than we would lovers. I do not sense that you have any feelings for me that run stronger than friendship, so do you not agree?’

‘Yes, I do agree,’ Ilmarë said and pulled the lock of hair away from him, ‘and that is all the more reason why I should stay here. If you are not angry with me then why do you want me to go?’ 

‘I do not want you to go, Ilmarë; I would like for you to stay here, but it is not in your best interest. Your presence here will not go unnoticed for much longer.’ He waved his hand as he spoke, punctuating his words. ‘There is already talk in Harlond about you staying here alone with me. News of it has traveled to Mithlond as well. Many of the Elves here in Harlindon hold to the customs I told you of and they will think badly of you living here with me.’ 

‘Why should that bother you, Círdan? It certainly does not bother me. Their talk is of no importance to me.’ 

Círdan sighed and said, ‘My father once told me that we do not know shame until it is taught to us by the judgments of others. That is a lesson I do not feel you are ready to learn yet, Ilmarë, not in this manner.’ 

He lifted her tangled strand of hair and began working the twists out of it again. After a pause, he said, ‘To be honest, the judgments of others concerning my choices have little effect on me, but considering what you have been sent here for, it is best to avoid this sort of conflict. It will be an impediment if the people here look upon you in a bad light.’ 

‘To stay in the king’s mansion will be good for you,” he continued. “It will help you learn to deal with different types of people. You know as well as I do that almost all the people you meet here are mariners, and you have already learned more about them than you will ever need,’ Círdan said with a smile. Having worked all the tangles free, he released her hair and let it fall back with the rest. ‘The king often has emissaries or dignitaries who stay at his home for long periods of time. There will be nothing said about you staying with him. He also has many women employed in his household, and I must say, Ilmarë - you are in need of companions to school you in some more feminine ways.’ 

Ilmarë’s laugh was condescending and she rolled her eyes and said, ‘Círdan, it is not as though one must be taught to be a woman. My spirit is female and my body is female…I am already a woman.’ 

Círdan grimaced as he thought of how to phrase his words. ‘Well…it is not that you have to be taught to be a female, Ilmarë…but you do need to be shown what is expected of females of these lands, as far as dress and mannerisms, how to style your hair, the different types of clothing. Things to help you fit in that you will not learn here with my men and me.’

Ilmarë thought over his reasons, then asked, ‘And what if I refuse to go? Will you force me to leave?’ 

Círdan glanced sideways at her and said, ‘No, Ilmarë, you know I will not force you, but I hope you will understand my reasons and agree with me.’ 

‘Will I still see you if I go to Mithlond?’ 

‘Of course you will,’ he said with a dismissive laugh. ‘I will come to see you and you may come see me whenever you wish. Just because you are not here with me does not mean I will not still help you.’ Círdan patted her leg as he waited for an answer. 

Ilmarë did not want to go, but she chose to trust in Círdan’s judgment. After all, she had been sent to him for help in these lands. He would be of no help to her if she did not trust his advice. 

‘I will go then, if you think it best,’ Ilmarë said at last. ‘When will I be leaving?’ 

‘This afternoon,’ Círdan said and Ilmarë looked up at him accusingly. ‘You know the king has been asking to meet with you and I understand your decision to wait until you were settled. But yesterday I took it upon myself to send a message to him asking if he would allow you to stay with him. The reply came very early this morning that you were welcome in his home and he would come to Harlond this afternoon to escort you himself.’ 

When her stare remained level and accusing, he added, ‘If you had refused, I would have merely sent Ereinion back to Mithlond with my apologies.’

‘Ereinion?’ she asked, distracted by the unfamiliar name. 

‘Ereinion is Gil-galad’s given name and it is the name those who are close to him still use. I suppose you could say Gil-galad is the name he chooses to use formally.’ 

‘Should I call him Gil-galad or Ereinion?’ Ilmarë asked, her irritation having diminished by the thought of meeting the king. ‘Gil-galad, I would imagine, as I am not close to him.’ 

‘I would see how he introduces himself to you, but I have little doubt he will ask you to call him Ereinion. And while we are on that subject, have you given any more thought to taking a different name? Ilmarë is a name that will be recognized by some.’

Ilmarë said, ‘I have, and I will keep my name for the time being. You said it was common among mortals to give names of their ancestors or people they admire. If anyone chances to recognize my name, I will lead them to assume I was named in admiration.’ Her smile was falsely modest. ‘I am certain there are those who admire me.’ 

Círdan skeptical look told her that he did not agree with this decision. ‘If the use of my name poses a problem, I will begin using one of my other names for none outside Aman know them. Will that do?’ 

“As you have already made up your mind about it, I suppose it will have to,” Círdan said, “And have you decided if you will tell anyone else of your true nature?” 

Ilmarë remembered Linquendil’s distrust of the Noldorin king and the thought made her uneasy. “No, the secrecy of my identity will also remain as it is for the time being. I gave my word that none would know who I was, and that I would only share the knowledge out of great trust and great necessity. Neither of those are present yet. I will tell them why I have come and who has sent me, but the rest I will keep to myself.” 

‘That is a wise decision, Ilmarë, but I would consider sharing all with Ereinion. You will find him a powerful and helpful ally,’ Círdan said and stood to leave. ‘I will tell the help to ready your things. Will you come with me?’ 

‘No, I would rather remain outside,’ Ilmarë said absently, watching the water. 

‘I will see to it that your things are ready,’ Círdan answered and bent forward to plant a quick kiss against the top of her head, hoping to reassure her. ‘It will not be so bad, Ilmarë. I think you will enjoy Mithlond. Do not wander far,’ he called as he walked toward the house, ‘it will not be long until Ereinion arrives.’ 

~*~

 

Harlond’s sister city of Mithlond was different in several ways. Its grey piers were not as large for they did not see as many arrivals as the piers of Harlond, although the city itself was larger because the king lived there. The roads gradually rose beyond the northern piers for the city was built on a hill, and the grey stone roads climbed upward until they reached the summit. A large home dominated the plateau, and a high tower of pale grey stone stood watch over it. The home of Ereinion Gil-Galad was the largest in the city and by far the most beautiful. 

Ereinion stood upon the balcony of the tower and stared out at the waters of the gulf, deep in thought. He heard the approach of someone behind him but his gaze did not leave the water. A dark-haired Elf walked silently across the high balcony, the hem of his blue robe grazing the floor as he moved. He stopped when he reached Ereinion and stood next to him, waiting.

‘Thank you for coming so quickly, Elrond,’ Ereinion said. ‘I have a favor to ask of you.’ 

‘And what would that be, Ereinion?’ Elrond asked. 

‘To take a ship to Harlond and escort our new houseguest back to Mithlond,’ Ereinion answered. 

He continued to watch the ships in the harbor and Elrond turned his gaze toward them as well, trying to discern if Ereinion looked at something in particular or if his distraction was yet another sign of the anxious mood that had gripped him in the past weeks. 

‘Círdan sent word yesterday, asking that his new arrival be allowed to stay here for a time. I intended to escort her myself,’ Ereinion continued, ‘but a messenger arrived unexpectedly from Harlindon, despite the fact that I cancelled all my meetings and made it clear I would not be attending to any business today. Now I must answer the message and send him on his way to ensure my plans for the rest of the day, at least, will remain uninterrupted. I am expected in Harlond shortly and I do not wish to make Círdan or our guest wait.’ 

Elrond thought of the unfinished writings he had left on his desk when the servant brought Ereinion’s message. Now he would not be able to return to them until later that evening, if not tomorrow, and he felt a brief flash of irritation at being called away from his work. But he knew Ereinion would not have asked him were it not necessary and his curiosity was piqued by the thought of this new houseguest. 

‘So we will meet our mysterious visitor at last?’ Elrond asked. ‘It is not like Círdan to be so tight-lipped, particularly considering the importance he attached to her arrival. Have you even been told her name?’ 

Ereinion shook his head and frowned. ‘No, but we will find out soon enough.’ 

‘Then I will go in your stead, Ereinion, and I will bring her to you upon our return,’ Elrond said and gave a small bow before he left. 

‘Thank you, Elrond,’ Ereinion called after him, but continued to watch the harbor. He could see the ship that had been prepared to take him waiting at one of the piers. 

Once again Ereinion thought how grateful he was that Elrond had chosen to remain in Mithlond. His wisdom and kindness lent help beyond measure, yet it had always seemed as though Elrond’s spirit bore a great burden. Ereinion turned just in time to see Elrond disappear around the corner and a sense of urgency seized him, telling him to call Elrond back to deal with the messenger. He hovered on the edge of indecision, suddenly feeling it very important that he be the one to travel to Harlond. 

And then the moment was gone. Ereinion attributed it to the restless feelings plaguing him recently and he chastised himself, thinking how unfair it would be to put the distasteful task upon Elrond while he took the enjoyable one. He let out a disappointed sigh and walked back into the tower to deal with the unwanted message from Harlindon. 

~*~

 

‘Good afternoon, Elrond,’ Círdan called as he walked out the front door to meet his arriving guest. ‘I did not expect you today. Ereinion said he would be escorting Ilmarë back to Mithlond.’ 

‘Something came up that required Ereinion’s attention and he asked me to come instead,’ Elrond said, smiling in greeting at Círdan as he reached the front steps of the house. A thoughtful look crossed his face. ‘That is her name…Ilmarë? It is an unusual name. Where is she from?’ 

Círdan shifted uncomfortably. He had known Elrond would be among the people who would recognize the name. Círdan did not want to lie, nor did he wish to reveal more than he should. ‘The ship that brought her came from Númenor,’ Círdan replied truthfully, ‘but I think it is best if I let Ilmarë explain the rest. Why don’t you come inside,’ he said quickly to distract Elrond from asking any more questions, ‘I will have my men take her things to the ship and then you and I can retrieve Ilmarë from the shore.’ 

Elrond’s curiosity had grown now at seeing Círdan’s discomfort and he did not wish to wait any longer to meet this mysterious person. ‘If you do not mind, Círdan, I will go and retrieve her while you instruct your men.’ 

Círdan started to say no, but reconsidered. He reminded himself of his reasons for sending her away, wanting her to become accustomed to having dealings with others. That moment seemed as good a time to start as any. 

‘I do not mind, Elrond,’ he answered and motioned toward the shores of the gulf, ‘walk in that direction and you will come upon her. I am not certain where she will be, but it will most likely be near the water.’ 

Elrond nodded and waited for Círdan to return inside before turning to walk across the lawn in the direction he had been shown. The yard surrounding the house was empty and Elrond left the grass and took to the sands of the shoreline, looking in each direction for sight of her. When he looked toward the east he found her; a short distance up the beach and she appeared to be tossing pebbles out into the water of a small cove. 

He studied Ilmarë as he came closer. The waves had wet the hem of her grey dress and sand clung to the skirt, giving Elrond the impression that she had been on the beach for some time. A mass of black hair hung down her back, mussed and tangled by the wind, and he watched it swing to the side as she threw another stone out to the water. 

Ilmarë sensed Elrond’s approach but did not turn, thinking it was one of Círdan’s men come to fetch her. 

Elrond gaze followed the rock as it skipped lightly across water and he waited until it had disappeared beneath the surface before speaking. 

‘I am sorry to interrupt, my lady, but I was sent to escort you,’ Elrond said as Ilmarë set loose another stone into the water of the cove. ‘You are very adept at that. Where did you learn?’ 

‘A friend taught me at the Bay of Andúnië,’ Ilmarë said. The sound of his deep voice had startled her, but not enough to make her turn around for she wished to use up all the stones in her hand before she left. ‘Although I must admit, the shape of the stones I have found here in Middle-earth are far more conducive to gaining distance with the throw. They appear to be more flattened and worn smoother.’ 

‘Then you are from Númenor?’ Elrond asked. 

Ilmarë regarded the stone in her hand for a moment and then tossed it out, saying, ‘I journeyed here from Númenor, yes.’ A wind blew across her face and she inhaled deeply. ‘Rains are coming.’ 

‘And why do you say that, my lady?’ 

‘Someone very close to me is a mariner and he taught me to read the signs of the weather. The smell of moisture on the wind is increasing and the winds have grown stronger. They blow from the east and combined with the red sunrise this morning it is an ill sign.’ 

Elrond gave a satisfied nod. ‘Yes, the temperature of the air has dropped as well, and look there…’ he said, leaning closer as he raised his hand near her face to point toward the eastern sky. ‘The clouds are large and billowed on their tops, and dark and flattened at the bottom. They travel westward swiftly, in our direction.’ Ilmarë followed the line of his finger to see the large clouds gathered there.

‘I am the son of a mariner,’ Elrond said in a matter-of-fact voice. 

Ilmarë turned to look at him and drew a quick gasp of surprise just before a name escaped her lips. 

‘Elros Tar-Minyatur…’ 

The sun reflected off the glossy surface of his dark hair, pulled away from his face to fall across his shoulders and down his back. The eyes that regarded her with shock were pale grey and sat in a face as fair and flawless as any Elf she had seen, but on second glance Ilmarë noted subtle differences. The lines of his jaw and cheekbones were stronger, not fine as in other Elves, and the shape of the nose slightly longer and straighter. But she noted with admiration that the differences did not detract from the face; they had rather the opposite effect. Elrond had been given the best features of Elves and Men and the result was the uncommonly handsome face Ilmarë saw before her. 

She recognized the face from the many portraits the inhabitants of Númenor displayed of their first king. But the nagging specter of awareness flitted in and out of her thoughts, baiting her just enough for Ilmarë to know that not only his features but also the grace with which he carried his body, something more than a Man yet not quite that of an Elf, were familiar to her in a way that surpassed the mere memory of a portrait. 

‘I am Elrond, my lady,’ Elrond replied, startled by her reaction. ‘Elros was my brother. You behave as though you knew him. But you are mortal…that is not possible….’ He frowned as his eyes searched her face.

A strange feeling passed through her when she first looked into his face, so close to her own. Ilmarë thought of the breathless feeling she felt with Círdan, but it was not the same. The strength of this sensation threatened to overwhelm her. It was the unsettling feeling of a soft band surrounding her chest and tightening with an almost exquisite pressure, making it impossible to draw a full breath. She shivered visibly as unfamiliar sensations traced their soft fingers up and down her spine, pulling into a tight ball that settled in the pit of her stomach. Ilmarë was unsure if it was her lack of ability to draw a full breath or the fact that her heart seemed to be galloping in her chest, but whatever the cause of it she began to feel slightly light-headed. 

She looked away from him and struggled to catch her breath. ‘Elrond, of course,’ she said when the feeling had calmed enough, ‘please forgive my mistake. Your features are much the same as those of your brother.’ She shook her head again and said, ‘No, I did not know Elros, but there are many portraits of him on Númenor. His is a familiar and respected face there.’ 

That must be the cause of this feeling, Ilmarë thought, the shock of seeing the face of someone who died long ago. 

At the thought of his brother, a look of sadness drifted across Elrond’s face and then disappeared. ‘My brother and I were very much alike of face and form. The differences between us were not apparent to the eye.’

Ilmarë did not catch the underlying meaning of his words but had regained enough composure to give him a smile. ‘Still, it is good to see a familiar face, as it were.’ 

Elrond looked at her face closely, studying it for recognizable traits. Her eyes were a grey that was much darker than his own, like those descended from the House of Bëor but her hair was not the dark gold so often seen in that House. He hoped to discover that she was from one of the three Houses of the Edain and not from the line of his brother. 

_Even if she is of the line of Elros, surely it would be so far removed that it would not matter._ He paused and chided himself for the ridiculous thought. _Matter for what? I have only just met her… there is no need to be foolish._ Yet had Ilmarë told him of the grip tightening around her chest at that moment, Elrond would have sworn he bore its twin around his own. 

_I am no youth and I have looked into the face of many maidens. This one is no different._ Even as Elrond told himself this he knew it was not true; none had ever affected him in this manner. He curled his fingers into his palms and held them tightly, afraid that if he did not restrain his fingers they would act upon the rash impulse to run themselves along the skin of her cheek and discover if it was as soft as it appeared to be. Never had he met a woman whom he longed to kiss so much that his body ached, and within only seconds of their first meeting. 

He took a deep, cleansing breath through his nose and released it slowly. _These are the thoughts of silly maidens, not of grown men. It is but an irrational moment that will pass._ Still, he could not help but ask…

‘There are those on Númenor who are my distant kin… Would your family be among them, Lady Ilmarë?’

His use of her name caught her off guard, and it did not take much to reason out that Círdan had told him. But obviously just her name and nothing else. ‘No, Lord Elrond, I bear no kinship to your family.’

Elrond tried not to be, but he was relieved to hear this and the corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. Ilmarë felt the band constrict around her chest again. His features relaxed when he smiled and made him seem more handsome than before. 

At the house, Círdan had walked out the front door and shouted some final instructions to his men who were leaving in the wagon carrying Ilmarë’s things. The sound of his voice startled Ilmarë out of her fixated study of Elrond and she toward Círdan. 

‘Here, take these,’ she said when she turned back, holding her closed hand out to Elrond. 

He looked at her inquisitively but held out his hand to take whatever it was she offered. She emptied part of the contents of her hand onto his open palm and Elrond cupped his hand to keep the smooth gray stones from spilling out. 

‘I spent a fair bit of time collecting these and it would be a waste not to use them all before Círdan comes,’ Ilmarë said and stepped closer to the water, preparing to toss one of the stones. 

Elrond stayed where he was, staring at the stones in his hand. When Ilmarë noticed this, she glanced back at him. 

‘Do you not know how to throw them, Lord Elrond? I could show you if you'd like - there’s not much to it.’ 

Elrond did not answer at first; his mind was on a memory, hazy and almost forgotten, of standing on a shore much like this one and being shown how to toss the stones. He remembered little of the actual lesson - mostly the memory was of his father’s deep voice and the feel of the smooth, damp stones against his hand. Another memory followed, this one very clear. In it, he stood on the far shores of Mithlond and laughed with Elros as they competed to see who could skip their rock out the furthest. The joy of that memory seemed very distant and he had found no enjoyment of the pastime since Elros’s departure, dismissing it as childish. 

The feel of the water-worn rocks as he ran his thumb over them had triggered the remembrance of both long-suppressed memories and his first instinct was to toss the stones back onto the sands and leave. But he looked up to find Ilmarë watching him with concern. 

‘Is everything all right, Lord Elrond?’ she asked, worried that she’d upset him in some way. 

‘Yes, everything is fine.’ He gave her another crooked smile and stepped closer to the water to stand beside her. 

‘All right, then…’ Elrond chose one of the stones from his palm, looked it over, and then tossed it up into the air. ‘I know how to skip stones, my lady,’ he said as he caught the stone, ‘but it has been a good many years since I have done it.’ 

He leaned over and tossed it out with a quick motion and Ilmarë watched the stone hop across the surface of the water. 

‘One…two…’ she counted aloud as her eyes followed the movement, ‘…five…seven…’ She stopped when the stone disappeared beneath the water and smiled brightly at Elrond. ‘Seven…that is very impressive, especially for one who claims to be so out of practice.’ She looked at him in mock suspicion. ‘I believe you are misleading me, Lord Elrond.’ 

He gave a full smile at her teasing and even a short laugh as he threw another stone. ‘I am being completely truthful with you, Lady Ilmarë. I have not done this in more years than I can count.’ 

‘Well then, let us make up for lost time and finish these before Círdan comes to collect us,’ Ilmarë said and turned to throw a rock herself, trying to outdistance Elrond’s throws. 

In the meanwhile, Círdan had watched his men drive the wagon down the road a ways and then strolled slowly around the side of the house, not looking forward to Ilmarë’s departure. 

_Things will seem dull here with her gone_ he thought and then shook his head, remembering that Elrond would be the one to escort her back instead of Ereinion. _Elrond is my friend and I think very highly of him, but he is so quiet and reserved… morose, really would be a better word. Ilmarë is in for a boring boat ride back to Mithlond._

Círdan reached the point where the grass ended and the sand began, and the sight that met him on the shore shocked him. Elrond stood close to Ilmarë, throwing stones out into the waters of a small cove. He stopped to show Ilmarë a snapping hand movement and she imitated him, throwing her own rock out into the water. Obviously pleased with the results, Ilmarë laughed excitedly and Elrond laughed with her. 

Círdan smiled and felt his throat tighten as he watched them. _I remember Elrond and Elros doing this very thing the day before Elros left for Númenor, and the two of them seemed so close._ A sudden realization darkened his smile. _I believe that was the last time I heard Elrond laugh._

His grin returned wider than before to see the way Elrond watched Ilmarë as she threw another rock. 

_Perhaps the boat ride back will not be as boring for Ilmarë as I imagined_ Círdan thought and whistled a tune to himself as he went down to the waters to join them. 

~*~


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

 

“I find your heightened interest in Dwarves very disturbing, Lady Ilmarë.” 

The tone of his voice told Ilmarë that Elrond poked fun at her well before she looked up and saw the humor in his eyes. Since their departure from Harlond, Elrond had been standing beside her at the ship’s railings, patiently answering all her questions as she jumped from one topic to another – Ereinion, his home, Mithlond and then the topic turned to Dwarves. It was little wonder Ilmarë began asking about them; she had been fascinated with the idea of the short, bearded creatures since Linquendil had mentioned them to her on Númenor. Elrond had apparently grown weary of answering her questions about Dwarves and had chosen to tease her instead. 

“Have you ever met a Dwarf before, Lord Elrond?” 

“Yes, I have. At one time there were Dwarves who lived in the Blue Mountains,” Elrond said and pointed to the high mountains in the distance. “There are Dwarves who come to the Havens to trade with the merchants, but that is very rarely.”

“Well I have not met or even seen a Dwarf. I have seen Elves and I have seen Mortals, but never a Dwarf. I had hoped to meet one during my time here in Middle-earth.” She sighed and leaned forward to rest her arms on the railing as she looked out over the gulf waters. 

“I am sure you will have opportunity to meet at least one, if not several,” Elrond said, no longer teasing when he saw her disappointment. “While there are no Dwarves left in Lindon there are many who live within a week’s travel to the north and some to the southeast as well.” 

A gentle rain started to fall and Elrond looked up at the sky. “We should go below deck now that the rains have begun.” 

Ilmarë could hear the faint rumblings of thunder in the distance and saw the storm gathering to the east. “Could we not stay here, please? There are no storms like this in my homeland and I would very much like to see it. I do not mind the rain, if you do not.” 

Elrond didn’t much care for the idea of standing in the rain, but Ilmarë’s expectant face made it difficult to say no. The storm was still in the distance and no lightning accompanied the sprinkling rain that fell. At last, he decided it would do no harm to stay above deck and allow Ilmarë to watch the storm for a time. 

He heaved a sigh and said, “All right then…but only while the storm is at a distance. When it comes closer we must go below deck.” His stern look was undone by Ilmarë’s excited laugh; he smiled and shook his head at her. 

“First Dwarves and now thunderstorms…you are a woman of unusual tastes, Lady Ilmarë. And I hope you understand how fully drenched we will be after standing out here for a time in even this light rain. Ereinion will think you fell overboard and I was forced to jump in after you.”

Ilmarë pulled in a breath of exaggerated shock and laid her hand across her chest. “You would jump from the side of a ship and into the waters of the gulf for me?” Elrond answered with a nod of equally exaggerated modesty. “Why that is very noble of you, Lord Elrond. I would do the same for you, as well…. providing the water was not too cold at the time.”

Elrond’s look of mock hurt earned another laugh from Ilmarë. She glanced down at her dress, which was already becoming soaked. 

“Well…at least the sand from the beach will be washed away,” she said with a short sigh. 

Ilmarë studied Elrond’s profile as he leaned against the railing next to her. Every time she looked at him it caused strange stirrings in her chest and she could feel the skin of her body tingle. She cleared her throat and after a few hesitant tries, asked a question – one she was certain would go against the proper social manners Círdan had tried so hard to impress upon her. 

“I know it is polite to refer to acquaintances as Lord and Lady, but could we consider this new friendship between us an acceptable reason to forgo propriety? I would rather you called me simply Ilmarë. I do not like being referred to as Lady…it sounds so stiff and unfriendly.” Ilmarë watched Elrond’s face as she waited for his answer, hoping dearly she had not offended him. 

He turned away from the water and examined her closely for a moment, as though he were considering her request when, in truth, there was no decision to be made. “I will agree to call you Ilmarë…” he stopped and smiled at her, “but only if you will agree to call me by my given name as well.” 

She grinned brightly, relieved that he had agreed. “Thank you, Elrond. I had hoped you would say that. I feel very at ease around you. Calling you lord seemed….unfitting somehow.” 

A bright flash of lightning caught Ilmarë’s attention. She turned to watch the spread of its white fingers across the grey sky as it streaked down to meet the ground. Ilmarë shook her head in wonder at the dangerous beauty of it. 

“Did you see the lightning?” she said, pointing toward the storm. “It is beautiful.” 

“Yes it is,” Elrond agreed although it was not the storm he watched for Ilmarë’s distraction gave him the opportunity to study her profile. Yet the stirrings within Elrond affected him far differently than they had Ilmarë. He felt at ease around her, as well, and that was unusual. He knew that others perceived his quiet, reserved manner as a sign of propriety and wisdom, but it was far from the truth. It showed his lack of ability to trust others and his need to keep people at a distance. Elrond had his own false perceptions of himself…that his isolation provided him with a sense of safety. 

_It is not safety I feel, but loneliness…a loneliness not eased even by the presence of others,_ but with that thought he realized that it had been eased by Ilmarë’s presence, and that was almost as frightening for him as it was comforting. _I am no starry-eyed fool. I know all too well there are consequences for feelings such as this…it is too preposterous to even consider. This must be ended before it even begins…she will be delivered to Ereinion as intended and left to his care…_

Ilmarë felt Elrond’s gaze on her; when her eyes met his she frowned at the agitation she saw and felt in him. As he stared at her, Elrond saw a light appear in the depths of her eyes, but it was faint…like something hidden behind a veil. She blinked and the light disappeared, but Elrond had already been bound by the warmth and beauty he had seen in that brief glimpse. 

It was yearning that Ilmarë now saw and felt in him, and the band returned to tighten around her chest, squeezing the strange flutterings from her chest into her throat and making it difficult to breathe. Taking advantage of his weakening resolve, Elrond’s fingers fulfilled their earlier desire and the backs of them traced across her cheek, proving that her skin was so much softer than he had imagined. 

Ilmarë recognized the passion flaming in her stomach at his touch and the warmth spreading through her body was familiar, but there was something different at work within her…for Elrond’s lips to claim her mouth was a demanding need and left a tender, choking sensation that almost brought her to tears. 

Elrond saw her lips part in anticipation and at that moment all else faded away…the swiftly approaching piers, the sailors at the far end of the deck…they vanished; nothing mattered except to feel Ilmarë’s lips against his. He took his fingers from her cheek and used both hands to gently cradle her face as he brought his mouth down to meet hers. 

Ilmarë felt his breath brush against her lips before she pulled away. She took a step back from Elrond and closed her eyes, breathing deeply to try to clear her head and calm her rushing blood. She craved that kiss with every fiber of her weak, mortal body and it rebelled violently against her now, demanding the passionate contact it had been denied. But the lesson she learned with Círdan was not one easily forgotten; she knew where this would lead if her desire was allowed to take control again. Elrond would call a halt to his mistake as Círdan had, but he was not bound by a promise to help her as Círdan was. Ilmarë had no doubt that once he realized what she had led him to do, Elrond would want nothing more to do with her. 

Elrond watched her, his passion-clouded mind taking a few moments to understand that she had pulled away. His disbelief mounted until it reached the point of anger and confusion. He knew Ilmarë’s desire was as great as his own – he had seen it in her eyes – why did she pull away then? Her voice was little more than a shaky whisper when she spoke, though she tried to sound calm. 

“Forgive me, Elrond, but I do not think this a wise decision. I fear if this were allowed to happen it would only become a cause for regret.” 

Ilmarë spoke of the regret he would feel, but Elrond took it to be directed at him – that she would come to regret allowing him to touch her. He stared at the planks of the deck and silently berated himself for going against his better judgment to even entertain the idea of something between the two of them. 

_It would have been nothing but a temporary diversion,_ he reassured himself, _she is Númenorean, yes… but she is still only Mortal and I am Elf._ He closed his eyes against the unbidden thought that surfaced. _Half-Elf, Elrond Peredhil…Elf in spirit perhaps, yet Mortal blood courses in your veins as well._ This only served to irritate him further and turned his back on Ilmarë to look out past the bow of the ship. She risked a glance when she sensed him move away. Elrond cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. 

“Yes…I suppose you are right. We merely share a friendship and behavior like that is not appropriate within the bounds of friendship.” 

He was relieved that he was able to sound indifferent despite what raged inside him. He heard the mariners on the ship calling to the workers on the pier as they threw the ropes down to be tied off. Withdrawing back into himself and taking on a disinterested tone, he spoke again. 

“It appears that we have arrived at the Havens. I see the coach waiting for us just past the docks. Come now, we must leave.” 

Ilmarë watched him walk across the deck and speak to the captain. She slowly followed him, her thoughts centered on the disgust she felt for herself that this desire had been allowed to get the better of her again. 

_I did not stop it in time. I should not have let it go so far. This mistake was enough for Elrond and already he wants nothing to do with me. I should have allowed him to kiss me…at least I would have the pleasure of knowing his kiss before he decided to forgo my company._

But she quickly found that this was not a frustrating disappointment as it had been with Círdan. The thought of Elrond’s rejection was much worse. It left a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that made her want to bury her face in her hands and cry. Ilmarë stood next to the sailors lowering the gangplank and waited for Elrond to finish speaking with the captain. Once the gangplank was securely on the pier, the mariners took her trunks off the ship and carried them to the waiting coach. Elrond left the captain and reached Ilmarë just as the last of her trunks were leaving the ship. Gathering up enough courage, she tried to apologize; the distant look on Elrond’s face and his refusal to meet her eyes tore at her. 

“Elrond,” she said hesitantly, “I am sorry…I did not mean…” 

But he acted as though he had not heard. Without looking at her he offered his arm and nodded toward the gangplank. 

“We should go now. Ereinion will be waiting for us to arrive.” 

Elrond had heard her, but his indifferent attitude was becoming difficult to maintain and her apology would only make it worse. He wanted only deliver Ilmarë to Ereinion, and retreat to the solitude of his study and his books to be alone with his thoughts. Ilmarë nodded and put her hand on Elrond’s arm, and they walked down the gangplank in silence.

After he had helped her into the coach, Elrond watched the workers secure the trunks to the back of the coach before climbing up to join Ilmarë. Though he sat across from her the inside of the small coach was close quarters. Elrond appeared to be oblivious to her presence, putting his elbow on the armrest and resting his chin on his hand as he watched the passing scenery of grey roads, stone houses and trees lining the roadways.

Ilmarë tried to look at the city as they passed through it but found it couldn’t hold her attention. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and the wet material of her dress chilled her skin. She noted with regret that Elrond’s clothes and hair were as wet as hers. 

“I am sorry, Elrond,” she tried again and saw him stiffen when she spoke. “I am sorry for asking you to stay on deck to watch the storm with me. Now your clothes and your hair are wet.” 

He relaxed and even gave her a hint of his crooked smile. “If I am willing to jump from the deck of a ship into the gulf waters for you, then braving the rain seems a small sacrifice by comparison.” 

Ilmarë smiled but her relief was short lived. The moment he finished speaking Elrond appeared to regret his teasing remark and resumed his stony examination of the window. They rode in silence until the coach halted. Elrond left the coach first and turned to offer Ilmarë a steadying hand as she climbed down. She exited the coach as quickly as possible, determined not to show the effect the touch of his hand had on her. 

He led her up the steps of the mansion of pale grey stone and just as they reached the shelter of the porch the storm began in earnest. Elrond opened one of the tall, white front doors stepping aside to let Ilmarë enter first. Once inside, Elrond stopped just past the entryway. While he peeled off his wet robe and draped it across his arm he searched for the right words to say to Ilmarë. Having her so near to him during the ride to the mansion had snuffed out his indifference, despite his best efforts to keep it alive. Now he could only hope that if he offered a proper apology, she would forgive his forwardness in trying to kiss her and perhaps even still wish to see him. The sound of footsteps coming down the far hall made Elrond lift his head and look around. 

Ilmarë had been studying the twin staircases as she waited for Elrond; one rose from the floor on each side of the room and curved up to the second floor. She turned to look toward the sound, but had no idea the faint footsteps heralded the approach of a king. When Ereinion rounded the side of the far stairway her thoughts of disappointment and wet clothing were pushed aside in her wide-eyed examination of him. 

Upon meeting Ereinion, the feature first noticed by most was his height and Ilmarë was no exception. He was tall - almost as tall as silver-haired Elf from her dreams, and she had seen none taller than Thingol. Ereinion moved with a fluid grace making even Círdan and Linquendil seem ungainly by comparison. He wore no robe, just a belted shirt of deep red with long, full sleeves and close-fitting black pants tucked into boots of soft leather ending just above his calves. 

Fine, dark golden hair fell to the center of his back and was held away from his face by the circle of gold upon his forehead. His face was strikingly handsome with its well-defined jaw line and high cheekbones, but the eyes beneath the arched brows were what held Ilmarë’s attention. She compared their brilliant blue to the sapphire waters from her dream of Eressëa. The outer corners of his eyes tilted up slightly with the smile he offered her as he crossed the wide marble floor. 

Ilmarë’s study of Ereinion had not escaped Elrond’s attention. Now he waited to see how she would react to Ereinion, all the while painfully aware of the tension building inside his chest. 

“My errant houseguest, arrived at last,” Ereinion said as he stopped close to Ilmarë. “I am sorry I was not able to escort you from Harlond as I had intended, but I have no doubt Elrond proved an excellent escort.” 

He looked at Elrond still holding his wet robe over one arm; his pants and shirt were soaked through as well. Ereinion took note of Ilmarë’s dampened appearance before looking at Elrond with a raised eyebrow. 

“Elrond, did you get caught in the storm? I only heard the rains begin as I walked down the hallway.” 

“It rained on the crossing from Harlond and we stayed above deck to allow Ilmarë a view of the storm to the east. She asked to watch it and I did not think a little rain was a reason to say no.” Elrond leveled his gaze at Ereinion, daring his friend to comment on how out of character this was for him, yet at the same time wishing that Ereinion would not do so in front of Ilmarë.

The corners of Ereinion’s mouth began to turn up in a smile at Elrond’s discomfort, and he pursed his lips to hide it. “That was very thoughtful of you, Elrond,” he said and left the matter alone. He turned to Ilmarë with a warm smile. 

“Then Ilmarë is your name, is it? Well, that is one mystery solved. Ilmarë…” Ereinion said thoughtfully, “it is a lovely name…but then I have always found the names of those in Valinor lovely.” 

Ilmarë stood speechless. Could this Elven King possess such perception? …or had Círdan told him in spite of her request that he tell no one? It seemed unlikely, but not impossible. Before she could recover from the surprise Ereinion continued. 

“My father told me tales of Ilmarë, which his father told him. Many of the Noldorin exiles held the Maia of Varda they knew in Aman as an example of devotion and kindness,” Ereinion told her. “It would seem the mortal custom of naming children after those who are held in high esteem is a wise one. Your name was chosen well, Lady Ilmarë; it suits you.” 

Ilmarë caught herself before the sigh of relief escaped her lips. She lowered her head respectfully and made a small curtsy. 

“I am honored to meet you, King Gil-galad. Thank you for your kindness in allowing me to stay at your home.” As she straightened up to stand what he had said hit her. “May I ask why you say the name suits me? That is a curious thing to say to one whom you do not know.” 

“No,” Ereinion replied with a smile, “it is not so curious when you consider the name. In Quenya your name means ‘starlight’, and like the stars, I am filled with wonder to look upon your radiant beauty.” 

In what memories she possessed, Ilmarë could not remember ever being given such a kind compliment and she smiled brightly. 

“In Sindarin my name, Gil-galad, means ‘starlight’ as well. I find that a pleasant coincidence, Lady Ilmarë. And please, call me Ereinion - it rolls of the tongue a bit easier than Gil-galad, does it not?” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a light kiss upon the back of it. 

Ilmarë felt the familiar stirrings of attraction rise in her chest as Ereinion’s lips touched her skin and she held back a resigned sigh. These reactions only confirmed her suspicion that the Valar had housed her in a defective form. 

 

_All Mortal forms are defective_ she reminded herself _and if Elves and Mortals are constantly subjected to these confusing and tiresome sensations then it is little wonder they cannot rule these lands properly…_

She squared her shoulders and started to take a deep breath but the movement caused her damp dress to slide across her skin, sending a chilled shiver through her body. Ereinion saw this as he raised his head and for the briefest instant he was pleased, thinking the reaction had been caused by his kiss to her hand. When it dawned on him that her wet clothing was the cause his eyebrows drew together in a frown. 

“Lady Ilmarë, please forgive my lack of manners. You are soaked to the skin,” Ereinion said, clearly distress by his oversight. “Let me show you to your room so you can change into something dry.” 

Elrond had watched their exchange in silence, convincing himself that despite the sinking feeling in his stomach, this turn of events was for the best. His duty had been to deliver her to Ereinion and so he had. Ereinion and Ilmarë were clearly happy in one another’s company. _There are few women who are not happy in Ereinion’s company._ Elrond realized that fact had never bothered him until now. 

“You could do with a change of clothing yourself, Elrond.” Ereinion’s friendly remark interrupted Elrond’s introspection. Elrond looked down at his clothes and nodded. 

“Indeed I could, Ereinion. Now that I have fulfilled my task of delivering your guest to you, I will take my leave and return to my rooms.” Elrond smiled at Ereinion. He purposefully avoided Ilmarë’s gaze as he nodded to her and he turned to walked toward the nearest of the two staircases. 

_There, it is finished. She is better off with Ereinion for he has no reservations about becoming involved with Mortal women… Although he must have some reservations, for he goes to great length to keep his dalliances secret whether they be Elf or Mortal…_

“Thank you, Lord Elrond.” Ilmarë’s voice cut through his musings. She had taken Ereinion’s arm and they were walking toward the staircase at the far end of the room. When he did not answer, she added, “Thank you for this afternoon. You were kind to indulge my wishes, and I am sorry it was not more pleasant for you.” 

He saw the worry in her fixed gaze and the stiff lines on Elrond’s face relaxed. Despite his disappointment at the averted kiss, he had enjoyed the time spent with her. 

“You are welcome, and you have my thanks as well,” Elrond said with a brief nod. “I found your company very pleasant, Lady Ilmarë, and well worth being caught in the rain.” 

Ilmarë rewarded him with a bright smile that made his heart stumble a pace in its usual steady march. Elrond’s step was a little lighter as he made his way up the stairs. Before he reached the top of the stairs, Ereinion called to him from the opposite stairway. 

“Elrond, my friend, I am afraid I must ask another favor of you. When you have finished dressing, would you meet us in my private study? I wish to discuss with Lady Ilmarë her reasons for coming to Lindon and I would like you to be there.” 

“Certainly, Ereinion. I will not be long,” Elrond replied and nodded, then took the last few steps quickly and disappeared into the second floor hallway leading to his rooms. 

Ilmarë allowed Ereinion to lead her down the hallway once they reached the second floor, but she paid little attention to where they went. The many mistakes she had made that day occupied her. She thought she had bested her desire after battling it those first days with Círdan, but obviously that had been nothing more than a skirmish. Not even the height of her passion with Círdan equaled the need Elrond had instilled in her with a mere look. She felt her body grow agitated again just to think of it. No doubt her reaction to Ereinion’s polite overtures was the result of the desire Elrond had stirred in her Mortal form. Clearly this would be more of a war fought again and again as opposed to a singular battle to be won and forgotten.

Ereinion cleared his throat and Ilmarë looked up to find that they had stopped in front of a door. From the look on Ereinion’s face they had been there for a few moments. 

“I am sorry, Lord Ereinion,” Ilmarë said hastily, embarrassed at being so caught up in her thoughts, “I am out of sorts and not quite myself today. I hope you will not think me rude.” 

“I do not think you are rude, Lady Ilmarë. You have caused no offense,” Ereinion said and smiled as he opened the door for her. “Come now, you need to get out of those wet clothes.” 

She walked ahead of him into a sitting room and Ereinion pointed to the far wall where a door stood open. 

“Your bedroom is through that door and all your things are inside. The servants should have brought your things upstairs and unpacked them by now. These rooms were prepared for you yesterday after I received Círdan’s message. I hope they are to your liking.” 

Ilmarë walked across the sitting room and into the bedroom, stopping to look around at the large room. She was happy to find that its furniture and window and bed coverings were of deep blue for she had grown quite fond of that color. A large cedar wardrobe sat against one wall and its doors stood open to reveal her clothes hanging inside. Next to the bed sat a table and her personal belongings had been placed on top next to a large vase filled with a tall fountain of colorful flowers. The two trunks she had acquired on Númenor were nowhere to be seen, but the trunk sent with her from Valinor sat closed at the foot of the bed. She was very impressed with the servants’ efficiency. 

“You will find the washroom in there,” Ereinion said from the doorway, pointing to another door. He stepped back into the sitting room and grasped the doorknob. “I will wait for you in the sitting room. Take your time, there is no rush.”

“Thank you, Lord Ereinion,” she said as he closed the door. 

She quickly pulled the wet dress off and laid it across the back of a chair to dry. Ilmarë grabbed a dressing robe from the wardrobe and pulled it tightly around her in an effort to warm herself. She tied the robe and let her body fall backwards onto the bed, flinging her arm up to cover her eyes as she lay down. 

“Why did the Valar choose to place me in a mortal body?” she muttered unhappily to the empty room. “Why not an Elven body? At least then I would not be subject to this torment of relentless desire.” Ilmarë shook her head and sighed. “I must have done some horrible deed in Valinor to have deserved this wretched task.” 

She removed her arm from her eyes and stared up at the mural painted across the ceiling. It was a landscape…Lindon was her guess… with lush green fields, a blue lake and mountains rising in the distance. Ilmarë knew that soon she would have to travel beyond the boundaries of Lindon and she would face trials more serious than learning to compensate for the shortcomings of a mortal body. 

“Wretched or not, it is my task, given to me because someone had faith I could complete it.” She sat up and looked around the room once more. “Well then…off we go,” and pushed herself from the bed. 

Ilmarë wasted no time in putting on a dry dress and then hurriedly combed out the mass of black hair before pulling it back with a ribbon. Retrieving dry shoes from the wardrobe, she slipped them on and opened the door to the sitting room. She started to call to Ereinion but stopped when she saw him sitting on a large couch across the room. He rested his body against the back of the couch and his head fell slightly to one side. Ilmarë knew from his closed eyes and deep, even breathing that he was asleep. She walked to the couch and stood next to it for a moment, uncertain what to do, but finally deciding to sit next to Ereinion and try to wake him. The moment her weight settled on the couch next to him he opened his eyes. 

“I did not expect you to be changed so quickly, Ilmarë. I am used to waiting much longer for ladies to make themselves ready,” Ereinion said teasingly and smiled, but then rubbed a hand across his eyes as he stifled a yawn. “Forgive me, but I have not been sleeping well these past weeks. Most nights I have strange dreams and I wake feeling as though I had not rested at all.” He looked at Ilmarë again and suddenly asked, “I have paid no attention to the talk of you living with Círdan, for I knew you were there for a reason, but the talk also says the ship that brought you came from Númenor. Is that true?” 

“Yes, it is, Lord Ereinion,” Ilmarë answered, watching him closely, unsure where this was leading. There was something in his voice that led her to believe there was a specific reason for his question. “Do you ask because you wish to know where it is I am from, or is there something more?”

“I have never been to Númenor,” Ereinion said, shaking his head. “I had a close friend who lived there and he came to Lindon often, but that was many years ago and time never allowed for me to travel to the island. But I believe some of my dreams these past weeks have been of someplace there.” 

He shifted his body on the couch to face Ilmarë. “I have seen a harbor with white piers and silver sands, and a tall white tower stands over it. From there, my dreams take me down a path of white sands and silver stones to a large grey house by the waters. Tall trees with white bark and golden leaves, and beds of red flowers surround it. The dream is so clear that there are times when I can almost smell the scent of the flowers when I wake.”

Ereinion looked at her hopefully. “Do you know of a place like this on Númenor? I know without doubt it does not exist here in Middle-earth.” 

Ilmarë stared silently at Ereinion, not only in amazement of his dream, but because the description brought back the dream she herself had the first night at Círdan’s, forgotten until that very moment. 

She slowly shook her head and said, “The place you describe is not on Númenor. It is the harbor of Avallónë on Tol Eressëa.” 

_The house is the home I shared with Eönwë_ , Ilmarë thought to herself, but did not speak it. 

At Ereinion’s questioning look, she added. “The Elves of Eressëa visit the Westlands of Númenor frequently and they tell stories of Avallónë. Lord Ereinion, do you see only places in your dreams or do you see people as well?” 

“I see people, but I do not see their faces. Only one person’s face is revealed to me and that person I already know.” 

“Who might that be?” Ilmarë asked with what she hoped was far less worry than she felt. His insight was uncanny and Ilmarë once again recalled Linquendil’s mistrust of the Noldor, especially their king. 

“Melian of Doriath, yet I do not know why she is revealed to me.” He searched Ilmarë’s face without speaking, and continued so long that she began to squirm uncomfortably beneath his gaze. At last, he rubbed his hand across his eyes again and then shook his head. 

“There is something familiar about you Lady Ilmarë. Not your face…it is difficult to explain…perhaps it is better to say there is something familiar about your presence. I have not seen you in these dreams, but now that I have met you, it seems as though you were there as well. That is why I hoped you might recognize the places I saw. Eressëa, you say….that is interesting…” 

“Lord Ereinion, is Elrond not waiting for us to arrive?” Ilmarë asked, hoping to divert his attention away from these dreams until she had time to give it a little further thought. 

Ereinion stood and held out his hand to help Ilmarë up. “Yes, he is waiting and we should go to him. Any other questions I have can be answered then.” 

Ilmarë stood and nodded in agreement. Ereinion led her from the room and down the hallway which ended in flight of stairs leading up. As they walked together up the stairs, Ilmarë listened to Ereinion explain to her that his private rooms took up the whole of the third floor. But the room she was most interested in was Ereinion’s study where Elrond awaited. 

 

~*~ 

 

NOTES: 

Elrond Peredhil – A name given to Elrond – Peredhil means ‘half-elven’ in Sindarin. 

Ereinion’s Description and Parentage: Tolkien refers to Ereinion Gil-galad as being very tall, even for an Elf. Although it says that Thingol was the tallest Elf who ever lived. No definite description is given for Ereinion; some like to picture him as dark haired and dark eyed, but my Ereinion is blonde haired and blue eyed. 

There is debate about who his father is and what house he is descended from, and I hold with the Peoples of Middle-earth version I hold to the Peoples of Middle-earth version (from the History of Middle-earth books), in the chapter, The Shibboleth of Feanor, which is the last thing Tolkien wrote on the subject of Gil-galad's father. 

Orodreth was moved from being the son of Finarfin to being the son of Finrod, and then on to being the son of Angrod. Gil-galad then became Orodreth's son. But at that time he had the name Artanaro Rodnor, which I can't use because it totally sounds like a nerd name. 

Anyway, end result is Christopher Tolkien says he changed things around concerning Gil-galad's parentage and that he'd have been better off just to have left it unmentioned because it was never ultimately decided. In Unfinished Tales Christopher says he changed the original signature on the letter to Tar-Meneldur from 'Finellach Gil-galad of the House of Finarfin' to 'Ereinion Gil-galad son of Fingon'. And Christopher Tolkien closes out the section in PoME with the statement 'Much closer analysis of the admittedly extremely complex material than I had made twenty years ago makes it clear that Gil-galad as the son of Fingon was an ephemeral idea.' Some people think this explains why the High Kingship passed to Turgon after Finrod's death instead of going to Gil-galad. 

So, again, I hold to the information that he is Orodreth’s son by a Sindarin woman, making Finduilas of Nargothrond his sister – which would make him of the house of Finarfin, and Galadriel’s great-nephew. That’s also why I think of him as blonde hair/blue eyed – because golden hair was said to run in the children of Finarfin, and Ereinion’s grandfather, Angrod, was Finarfin’s son and Galadriel’s brother. 

To those of you who hold to the Silmarillion version that he is Fingon's son, or one of the other versions that he is Finrod's son (or the son of Felagund of the Caves, literally), I have no argument. This is one of those areas where everyone just has to pick the one that suits them best and, basically no opinion is any more right than the others.


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven 

 

Ereinion opened the door to his study and allowed Ilmarë to walk in before him. On the opposite side of the room a fire flickered to life in the fireplace. Elrond knelt before it, prodding at the logs with a poker to stoke the flames. Upon hearing the door open, he stood and set the poker aside, brushing the dust from his hands as Ereinion and Ilmarë walked toward him. 

“Well, Elrond, it certainly did not take you much time to change your clothing. And you were kind enough to start a fire. Have you been waiting long?” Ereinion asked as he seated Ilmarë on the small couch facing the fireplace. 

“No, not long,” Elrond said, shaking his head. “I was still chilled from the rain and I thought the fire would do Lady Ilmarë some good as well.” 

“I have no doubt it will, and perhaps a glass of wine would do both of you good.” Ereinion gave Ilmarë a wink and said, “It will warm your blood from the inside while the fire works to warm your skin. Elrond, will you help me, please?” 

They went to a large cabinet filled with glasses, and various decanters of wine and liquor. Ereinion handed Elrond two glasses and filled them with a dark red wine. While Ereinion set about taking out another glass Elrond returned to where Ilmarë sat.

She looked up at him as he walked beside her and admired how his grey shirt and trousers complemented the color of his eyes. Elrond had chosen not to wear a robe and Ilmarë now had a better view of his body without the folds of fabric covering it - he was not of a slender build like Ereinion, as had been her first impression. The fabric of the shirt fit snugly across the solid frame of his shoulders and chest, and his height accentuated the well-built appearance. Now with his hair left loose to dry, it freely spilled over his shoulder in a dark curtain as he leaned down to offer Ilmarë a glass of wine. 

“Here you are, Lady Ilmarë.” 

Their fingers brushed as she took the glass from his hand and her traitorous body reacted to his touch once more. It then committed full mutiny and blurted out a question, even though she feared Elrond would deny it. 

“Would you care to sit next to me…Elrond?” 

He looked at her carefully before giving her the barest smile, pleased that she had used his name again. “I would like that…Ilmarë. Thank you.” 

Ereinion returned as Elrond sat down, and Ereinion moved a large leather chair next to where Ilmarë sat. After settling in and having a sip of wine, Ereinion began the conversation he had impatiently waited several weeks to have. 

“Forgive me for dispensing with the formality of polite small talk, but I have waited for some time to speak with you. I would prefer to discuss this directly and to the point. It is obvious that my first question should be why have you come here and why in such a secretive manner?” Ereinion said, watching Ilmarë set her glass on the table. 

“There is no need to ask forgiveness, Lord Ereinion. I understand.” Ilmarë regarded him for a moment, unsure where to begin. “I am here on behalf of the Valar, as their emissary, and therein lies the reason for my secrecy. I was sent to Círdan for he has been placed in that role himself before, as you both know. But his were different circumstances and he felt my task would be better served here in Mithlond.” 

Elrond said nothing for this turn of events had been completely unforeseen. He had expected to be told that she came bearing a message from the royals of Númenor or perhaps from among the nobles of the Edain, but the Valar…? Apparently Ereinion was caught off guard also, for he looked to be at a loss. 

“You come on behalf of the Valar…” he repeated. When she nodded, he asked, “And for what purpose would the Valar send a Mortal woman to Middle-earth?” 

“To gather information for them unobtrusively.” Ilmarë smiled at their disbelief. “What is it you find so difficult to believe? That the Valar would send a Mortal or that they would send a woman?” 

“Both, actually,” Ereinion answered with honesty. “What information is it they wish to gain?” 

Ilmarë glanced at Elrond and then back to Ereinion. She would tell them all that she could without revealing her true nature; now that she had met them she truly did believe they could help her. 

“The Shadow of Morgoth rises once again in Middle-earth. It wakens after lying dormant for many years. The Valar wish to have knowledge of what servants the Shadow has left in these lands who would rise with it. They also wish to know if there are still those left in Middle-earth who would rise against it.” 

“And they sent you alone to strange lands to gather such dire information?” Elrond asked, trying not to let his doubt show. Ilmarë turned to him with a patient smile. 

“Your skepticism does not offend me, Elrond. I felt it myself when I was first told of my part in all this. The Valar do not wish to interfere directly with the doings of Middle-earth, only to assess the situation here in hopes that they may offer subtle help. But why send a Mortal, you ask… A Mortal may pass unnoticed among the people here and thus prevent others from knowing the Valar’s involvement in this. In particular those servants of evil who still remain.” 

Ilmarë turned to Ereinion and said, “And why a woman, you wish to know? I believe my being man or woman had little to do with it. They felt me capable of fulfilling this task for them and I agreed to do so.”

“Did they have a reason for choosing you in particular?” Elrond asked, wanting to find out something more specific about her. 

When Ilmarë looked at him he saw the worry creep into her eyes just before she dropped her gaze and stared her hands, clasped in her lap. 

“I do not know the answer to that, Elrond,” Ilmarë replied softly, still staring at her hands. “Many of my memories were taken to prevent my being influenced by them, perhaps leading me to interfere or share forbidden knowledge. But I fear the Valar unknowingly took too much from me.” 

She paused and neither Elrond nor Ereinion spoke, waiting instead for her to continue. 

“I was brought here by Linquendil of Eressëa, son of King Olwë of the Teleri. Linquendil has long been my friend and was trusted to deliver me to Círdan. I awoke on his ship the first night of our journey and I remembered nothing, not even who or where I was. Some of my memories have returned and more continue to return, but many things I have been forced to learn anew as though I were a helpless child. Neither Linquendil nor I believe the Valar intended for this to happen…I do not hold them in blame. They know very little of Mortals and even less of how their bodies work. They left few memories of my life before waking on the ship, and what I do know I am not allowed to share with any other than Círdan for the time being.” 

Ilmarë let out a heavy sigh and closed her eyes. “There are still many things I must learn. This body and the workings of it are more familiar to me now, but there is so much about it that I struggle with from day to day. I remember very few personal details other than my name and my task. I remember Númenor and its people very clearly…at least those whom I had no direct personal involvement with. I have relied heavily on Linquendil and Círdan to help me learn about Middle-earth and its people and how I should interact with them. Yet still I have little idea how to go about this task. I am unsure even of where to begin.” She spread her hands out before her and then clasped them tightly together in her lap again. “I am here to ask for your help. Círdan felt you could aid me in this. But I can reveal nothing about myself other than my name and that I come from the West, and I can offer no proof of what I say other than mine and Círdan’s word. I will think no less of either of you should you choose not to help me.” 

Ilmarë’s eyes opened suddenly when she felt a hand laid across hers. She raised her head to find Ereinion leaning forward in his chair. He now watched her with a kind smile. 

“I am inclined to believe you, and even if I were not, Círdan’s word would suffice.” After a pause, he said, “When I was younger, barely more than a child really, I was left alone to face a difficult task…or rather, it seemed as though I were alone. But it was soon apparent that I was not. I had friends who stood by me and made my task easier. I will do that for you, Ilmarë. You are welcome to stay here as long as you wish and I will help you in any way I can.” 

“As will I,” Elrond said and when she looked up at him now he did not see worry in her eyes, but rather gratitude. “Then you will be able to tell us nothing about yourself?” He felt compelled to ask although he already knew the answer. That he would know nothing of her past was disheartening. 

“For the moment, no, although I am allowed to share the knowledge should the circumstances arise. But I must ask that you say nothing of what I have told you. I doubt there will be many whom I trust with even this limited knowledge.” Ilmarë released a long breath that seemed to take all the tension in her body with it. Although she felt at ease with Elrond as well as Ereinion, she had been very nervous about asking for their help. “Thank you. You cannot imagine the relief this brings me. I am forever indebted to you both.”

“Well, forever can be a very long time…let us see of what use we are before you decide your level of indebtedness,” Ereinion said and laughed. He gave her hand a final squeeze and sat back in his chair again. “You say you have no idea where to begin, although as I see it, you have already begun. You have set about learning the necessary skills and have enlisted the aid of people who are in a position to aid you. Now it is a matter of deciding where to go from here.” 

Ilmarë allowed her body to relax against the back of the couch. “Recently I have been considering something Círdan told me. He said that you had also sensed the return of the Shadow, Lord Ereinion, but you believed it to be a servant of Morgoth and not the Shadow of Morgoth itself. Have you been given proof of the presence of a dark servant?” 

Ereinion frowned and studied the fire. “I have long felt unrest in Middle-earth. I first sensed the stirrings eight hundred years after the fall of Morgoth. Not long after that, at Elrond’s counsel, I began proposals of an alliance with Númenor to ensure that we would not be caught unawares should we have dire need. However, the only real focus of my unease came more than three hundred years ago with the arrival of Annatar to Lindon and his offers of help.” 

“Annatar? I do not remember that name being mentioned in the histories that were taught to me,” Ilmarë said with curiosity. 

“Nor did anyone else, it seems,” Elrond said setting his glass on the table next to hers. “He claimed to be a Maia of Aulë sent to aid the Elves in repairing the damage done by Morgoth’s evils.” 

Elrond had looked away to set his glass down and he did not see the look of shock that crossed Ilmarë’s face. Ereinion did, although he said nothing. Something flared in Ilmarë’s mind; not a warning…more akin to a maddeningly elusive memory that remains just beyond the mind’s grasp. 

“Then you did not accept his offer?” Ilmarë asked, staring absently at the floor as she continued to search her thoughts. 

Ereinion watched her closely as he replied. “No, I did not even allow him to cross the borders of Lindon. I did not sense him as being evil, but a cloud of evil surrounded him. Whether this was a foreboding or a warning of something he sought to hide, I decided it was best not to allow him entry. After he was turned away he traveled southeast to Eregion and those in the city of Ost-In-Edhil welcomed him.” 

“He is there still?” Ilmarë asked. 

“Yes, he resides with the Gwaith-I-Mirdain - the fellowship of smiths who dwell in the city.” Ereinion said and watched Ilmarë as she pondered this information. 

Ilmarë sat up straight and with a determined nod of her head, she announced, “Then that is where I go from here.” 

Elrond and Ereinion sat up straight, their bodies tense and their faces dark as they both voiced their disagreement. 

“That would not be wise, Ilmarë,” Ereinion warned. 

Elrond’s admonition was equally grave. “It would be best if you reconsidered that decision, Ilmarë.” 

She fixed her gaze on Elrond and asked, “Did Annatar’s arrival give you the same sense of alarm as it did Ereinion?” 

Elrond glanced uncomfortably at Ereinion and then frowned at Ilmarë. “I have always sensed the same unease in Middle-earth as Ereinion has…but, no…my unease was not increased by Annatar’s presence. Ilmarë…you must listen to us. It is only because we are concerned for your safety. I was with Ereinion when Annatar arrived and this forewarning came upon him – I believe the evil he sensed was real.” 

“Elrond, I have no doubt it was real. That is why I must go…it is why I was sent.” Ilmarë’s tone was patient, but firm. 

“You will not go, I will not allow it,” Ereinion said, waving his hand. He had not meant it to sound so curt, but he was growing upset that she would not listen. 

“And what has led you to believe I will obey you?” Ilmarë asked and tried to hide her smile at his blustering. 

“Because I am King and I command it.” 

“I am your guest, not your subject, my lord. My king is in the West and I bow only to his commands.” 

“But you are in my country,” Ereinion leaned forward and glowered at her. “While you are in my country you are subject to my rule. It would be treason to disobey my commands.” 

“Then it would be best if I left your country and traveled to a different country. Perhaps Eregion?” Ilmarë said, raising an eyebrow as she did.

Ereinion sat back and sighed as he massaged his forehead with one hand. “Ilmarë, I am torn between being either irritated or amused at your obstinacy…but at the moment irritation has the upper hand.” He leaned forward in his chair again and rested his elbows on his knees as he peered at her and said, “There is more to worry about in Ost-In-Edhil than just Annatar. There are political situations there which you would be better off to avoid.” 

“Then perhaps I could help,” Ilmarë said, now frowning. “I was sent to give counsel as well, if I could.” 

Ereinion waved a dismissive hand at her. “There are none there who would listen to you…they will not even listen to me.” The exasperation in his voice was clear. “Ilmarë, please…you have just told us of the Valar taking more of your memory and knowledge than they intended, to the point of leaving you helpless and forced to relearn even the simplest aspects of life. And now you wish to travel alone to a city under an unstable rule in order to meet a person who is followed by a cloud of evil. Is it so difficult to understand why I am disturbed by this plan of action?” 

“No, it is not, Lord Ereinion, and I am grateful for your concern,” Ilmarë said, holding out her hands as she tried to reason with him. “I have no choice but to go….I came here to fulfill a responsibility. I now have obstacles to overcome but that does not change what I must do. Surely a king can understand being bound to honor a responsibility.” 

“Yes I can, Ilmarë,” Ereinion agreed, and decided to try a different tactic. “If you will not be dissuaded from going then will you at least take a companion with you? There is much information I would like to have concerning Ost-In-Edhil. Many of the Elves there are Noldor and all the Noldor are under my rule, even those outside the boundaries of Lindon. To send someone of my choice with you would benefit me as well. Would you agree to that?” 

“Yes, I would. In fact, I would be grateful for a traveling companion. I said I had no choice but to go…I did not say I was looking forward to it,” Ilmarë said and gave Ereinion a smile that seemed to give his amusement enough strength to gain control over his irritation. “Did you have someone in mind?” 

“I would prefer to go myself, but my responsibilities here would not allow it. Círdan could possibly be persuaded to go, although more than likely he would not be able to be gone long from his duties at the Havens…..hmmm…” Ereinion leaned back into the chair again and took another drink of his wine while he tried to think of another who was trustworthy enough for this job. Elrond had remained silent during the conversation but now he spoke, startling Ereinion. 

“I will go to Eregion with Ilmarë…,” Elrond and nodded at Ereinion, “that is, if you have no objections.” 

The offer visibly shocked Ereinion and the disbelief showed in his voice as he said, “No, Elrond, I have no objections to it…you are one of the few whom I would trust with this responsibility. But to be honest, I did not think you would wish to go. You do not like to travel…you have never gone beyond the borders of Lindon.” 

“Then it is well past time that I did,” Elrond said. Seeing Ilmarë staring at him, he added, “Will that be acceptable for you, Ilmarë?” 

“Yes, I would be very pleased to have you travel with me,” Ilmarë said, hoping it was not obvious just how pleasing the idea was to her. 

“Then it is settled,” Ereinion said, much relieved. “I do have one more request of you, Ilmarë - that you wait until spring to take this trip. Do not let today’s warmth mislead you. Within a few weeks winter will begin in earnest and the cold weather will make for an unpleasant trip. It would be wise to wait until the warm weather has returned.” 

“As you have been so considerate to me, I will honor your request, Lord Ereinion,” Ilmarë said with a polite nod to Ereinion. 

“Good…” Ereinion sat back again, clearly satisfied with the resolution. “I will send a message to Celeborn and inform him that you and Elrond will be arriving in early Spring.” 

“Celeborn?” Ilmarë asked.

“He rules Ost-In-Edhil,” Elrond explained, “or at least he did until shortly after Annatar arrived. There was an uprising and Celebrimbor, the leader of the Gwaith-I-Mirdain and also grandson of Fëanor, took up rule of the city. However, I believe Celeborn only conceded to Celebrimbor in order to keep peace in the city. He is a wise ruler and would not spill needless blood. I have no doubt that Celebrimbor’s rule is in name only, and that the people would still defer to Celeborn’s rule.” 

“I know who Fëanor was, but I know nothing of Celebrimbor. Although the name of Celeborn seems familiar to me,” Ilmarë said, trying to recall who Celeborn was.

“I have many books of lore and history in my library, Ilmarë, and you are welcome to peruse them whenever you wish.” A thought occurred to Elrond and he said, “That is, if you are able to read….what I mean is, if it was not lost with the knowledge taken from you…” 

“I can read, Elrond,” Ilmarë said with a smile meant to reassure Elrond that he had not offended her. “Linquendil had some books on the ship and I read them on the journey here. In fact, one of the stories I read was of your father. How proud you must be that Eärendil the Mariner is your father and the first king of Númenor was your brother. What was Elros like before he became king? Was he much like you?” 

The ease Elrond felt with Ilmarë disappeared at the thought of discussing his family, a topic he felt uncomfortable discussing with anyone. Stalling for time to think of a way out of the situation, he picked up his glass from the table and saw Ilmarë’s untouched glass of wine. 

“Do you not like the wine, Ilmarë?” he asked pointing toward the glass. 

Ilmarë had forgotten her glass and now she shook her head and said, “I do enjoy wine, it is just that I have not eaten since this morning and I fear to drink it on an empty stomach. I made that mistake once and do not wish to repeat it.” 

Elrond stood, thankful for the excuse to leave. “Then I will go downstairs and ask Haleth to bring a tray upstairs for you. It is well past dinner time anyway.” 

Ilmarë looked at Ereinion, who did not seem surprised in the least at Elrond’s sudden change in mood. By the time she looked back to Elrond he was opening the door of the study. 

“Goodnight Ereinion ….Ilmarë,” he said and nodded to each of them before closing the door behind him. 

“Goodnight Elrond,” Ilmarë called after him and turned back to Ereinion with a frown. “Did I say something wrong, Lord Ereinion?” 

“You need not call me lord, Ilmarë…Ereinion will do. And no, you did not, at least not intentionally.” He stood up from the chair and came to sit on the couch next to her. “Elrond does not like to discuss his father or his brother…or his mother either, for that matter.” Ereinion sighed and reached for the decanter to pour himself more wine. “You must understand… he and his brother were still very small when Eärendil left. It was not long after that their mother, Elwing, threw herself in the sea with the Silmaril to escape the kinslaying at Sirion. The boys were left behind to be captured by the sons of Fëanor.” 

As he spoke a dark rage filled him, radiating from him in waves and filling the air around them. “Cirdan and I reached Sirion too late to save the children or Elwing. The sons of Feänor had led the kinslaying yet again. The sight of the bloody ground littered with slaughtered Elves is a sight I will never forget.” Ereinion sighed and some of the anger left him. “I am thankful Maglor had the goodness of heart to rescue Elrond and Elros and keep them safe.” 

Ereinion shook his head to throw off the old memories. He lifted Ilmarë’s hands from her lap and held them. 

“Elrond and Elros did not have the presence of their mother and father as children. Maglor was kind to them and loved them as his own; still, it was not the same. After the attack on Sirion, Maglor and his brother Maedhros were the last surviving sons of Fëanor, and they were hunted by many people who wished to see them dead as well. They did not stay long in any one place. Elrond and Elros traveled with them for many years until Maglor finally conceded to my requests that they be sent to live with me. I believe he wished for the twins to have a good life - one which he could not give to them. It was a wise decision on his part. Elrond and Elros were allowed a peaceful existence for the first time in their lives.” 

Ereinion stopped for a moment and tried to find the best way to word his next explanation without infringing too much on Elrond’s private nature. He wanted Ilmarë to understand his friend, yet did not wish to reveal things Elrond would not be comfortable with. _That would include almost every detail of his life,_ Ereinion thought wryly. 

Ereinion spoke slowly, searching for the words as he went along. “People seem to think it was Elrond who was the caretaker of the two…that he looked after Elros. I am of the opinion it was quite the reverse. Elros seemed to know his own mind and was accepting of what had befallen him and his brother. He always tried to help Elrond keep a brighter outlook and not dwell too heavily on the past. Elrond was never the same after his brother left for Númenor.” 

“They were allowed to choose among which race they would be counted. Elrond chose first and took the life of the Eldar. When Elros chose to be Mortal, Elrond was devastated. He felt alone and nothing anyone did could change that. I believe the loss of his brother and the feeling of abandonment by his mother and father has never left him. He does not speak of it, but I would be a poor friend indeed if I did not see it. Do not judge him too harshly, Ilmarë.” 

She swallowed the thick lump that had risen in her throat as she listened to Ereinion speak. “I do not judge him at all. I feel very ashamed for my lack of insight; it should not have taken much wisdom to realize how the losses Elrond suffered would affect him. It was very insensitive of me,” Ilmarë said, reaching for her glass of wine and taking a drink, not caring how it would affect her. _My wisdom and my perception are very lacking. I cannot even read the obvious in a person I have spoken to for the last several hours. It is lunacy to imagine that I can offer counsel or aid to anyone._

“It is not your fault, Ilmarë,” Ereinion reassured her, “do not judge yourself too harshly either. It would be my guess that this body imposes limits that must be very difficult for one of your kind to become accustomed to.” 

Ilmarë was thankful she had just swallowed her drink, else she would have choked. She did not trust herself to look at Ereinion as she asked, “One of my kind?” 

“I know what you are. I suspected it when I first saw you, but I was not certain until you spoke of the difficulties you had - speaking of your body as though it were something completely foreign to you, referring to your homeland only as ‘the West’ and not Númenor… The look of shock on your face when Elrond spoke of Annatar’s claim of being Maiar removed all doubt from my mind.” 

Ilmarë dropped her head to her chest and felt her throat tighten as tears filled her eyes. “Then my failure is complete. I have no hope of accomplishing this task if my disguise can be seen through so easily. The Valar never should have trusted me with this responsibility. I should have paid heed to Linquendil and returned to Valinor with him.” 

A pressure built in her chest and she felt a spasm similar to the ones that accompanied the seasickness she felt on the ship, but these spasms seemed to come from her chest instead of her stomach. As the clutching in her chest increased so did her tears and she was helpless to stop it. She tried to catch her breath but only a small, hitching moan came out, a sound she found quite pathetic and this only made the tears come harder. She had cried before and believed the action to merely consist of wet tears streaming from her eyes, but this sense of despair and misery seized her and wrung the tears from her body, leaving her drained. 

Ereinion took her glass and set it aside, then gathered Ilmarë into his arms. She gladly accepted the warm comfort of his embrace and rested her head against his shoulder. The spasms in her chest and the hitching sounds worsened but began to ease when Ereinion tightened his arms around her and began to move her slowly from side to side. After several minutes the clutching in her chest diminished and she could breathe normally again – through her mouth at least - she found she could draw no air through her nose. Ilmarë felt Ereinion run his hand along her hair. 

“Not all tears are bad, Ilmarë,” he said softly and rested his cheek against her hair. “There are times when a good cry releases things that upset us, usually things we have been keeping to ourselves. Do you feel any better?” 

She nodded her head against his shoulder. “Yes, I do. Thank you, Ereinion,” she said, but her voice sounded strange and thick. “Barring the fact that I am suddenly unable to breathe through my nose.” 

Ereinion laughed as he gently pushed her back to sit up. His arm remained around her shoulders and he kept her close to his side. “I believe I can help you with that,” he said and reached into his pocket and pulled out a square piece of fabric, which he handed to Ilmarë. “Here, blow…” Ilmarë looked blankly at the fabric in her hands and then up to Ereinion. He pointed toward her face and elaborated. “Hold the handkerchief up against your nose and try to blow air out of your nose.” 

Ilmarë was doubtful but did as he said. She blew with a half-hearted effort that garnered no results. 

“Blow harder,” Ereinion encouraged her. 

She tried again, taking a deep breath and forcing air through her nose. Something thick and wet came out, accompanied by a sound she found utterly revolting. She used the fabric to dry the end of her nose and then looked down into what Ereinion had called the handkerchief. 

“Ohhh…” she exclaimed in disgust and looked up at Ereinion in disbelief. 

He laughed heartily and Ilmarë thought him daft that he could find the situation so amusing. 

“Every time I believe that I have at last found some level of familiarity with this Mortal body it reveals yet another unfortunate weakness that disgusts me to no end,” Ilmarë said, folding up the fabric so she would not be forced to look at the foul substance any longer. 

Ereinion continued to laugh as he took the handkerchief from her and carefully slipped it back into his pocket. 

“Allow me to dispose of that for you, Ilmarë. It’s quite normal, I assure you. Now do you feel better?” She nodded and he smiled and said, “Well then, I can tell you that you have not failed. I have no doubt Círdan recognized what you were because he had seen a Maia before - I recognized you for the same reason. I spoke to your brother when he came to offer Elrond and Elros their choice. With Eönwë it was not only his appearance that made an impression upon me, but his presence as well. For those who experience it, meeting a Maia is not something they soon forget, if they forget at all. I also felt it the one time I stood before Melian although I did not know what it was at the time. The presence was very diminished in her, as it is in you. There are few left in Middle-earth who would recognize that presence – Celeborn and his wife, Galadriel, are the only ones who come to mind. You should consider telling them the truth. I believe they will know it regardless.” 

“Then Elrond…?” Ilmarë asked, frowning with worry.

Ereinion shook his head. “No, Elrond did not speak to Eönwë although I would not be surprised if he discovered your true nature in other ways. He is very wise.” 

“I cannot tell him for it would mean breaking my promise, but I will not be disappointed should he guess the truth for himself. I am not disappointed that you know either, Ereinion.” 

Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the loud knock echoing throughout the room. He looked down at Ilmarë with a bright smile. 

“That must be Haleth with the food. If she catches us like this I will get a tongue lashing and I have no doubt our wedding would be planned before the week is out,” he said and slid far enough down the couch to leave a respectable distance between himself and Ilmarë before he called toward the door. “You may come in, Haleth.” 

The door opened and a slightly overweight woman bustled into the room carrying a large tray. To Ilmarë’s great surprise, the woman was Mortal – Ilmarë had thought Elves to be the only inhabitants of Mithlond and Harlond. Haleth walked past the back of the couch and saw the wine decanter and glasses on the table. She clucked her tongue as she looked at Ereinion and shook her head. 

“Get yourself up and move those things out of the way,” she barked and Ilmarë was further shocked to see Ereinion obey the command without question. Haleth continued her lecture as she watched him pick up the glasses and wine bottle. “You’ve had nothing to eat all day, and then you spend your evening in the study drinking wine. I’ve been waiting for you or Master Elrond to come downstairs and let me know when you were ready for dinner. He finally came to the kitchen and I made him sit down and eat before I would let him leave.” 

Haleth took the platter to a table against the wall and Ereinion took the bottle and glasses back to the cabinet. He passed Ilmarë and grinned, quickly slipping her a mischievous wink. His cheerful acceptance made her realize he was used to this treatment, and actually appeared to enjoy it. She watched Haleth bring two plates of food and set them on the low table in front of the couch. When she stood up, Haleth pointed to the table where she had left the platter. 

“Be a dear and bring that teapot and cups with you,” she told Ereinion and wiped her hands on her apron as she came around the table. 

Ilmarë examined Haleth as she drew closer. Her brown hair was pulled into a fat braid that hung down her back and swayed as she walked. Wisps of hair had come loose and curled around the round, jovial face that belied her commanding tone of voice. 

Haleth stopped in front of the couch and used her hand to tilt Ilmarë’s chin up. Ilmarë jerked reflexively at the sudden contact, but Haleth’s motherly smile set her at ease and Haleth’s rapid stream of questions held her attention. 

“Well then, let’s have a look at you, shall we?” Haleth’s smile grew broad and toothy as she examined Ilmarë’s face. “Ohhh… you’re a pretty one, aren’t you? Master Elrond said they call you Ilmarë, is that right? Do they now? That’s a lovely name, to be sure. It’s nice to make up a lady’s room for a change. I unpacked your things and put them away for you. Was it all to your liking? Very nice dresses, if I may say so. Beautiful materials and plainly made; I like that. Women these days think they need spangles and sparkles, and a dress cut so low I’m sure they’ll catch a chill; don’t you think? Did you like the flowers in your room, dear? I picked them myself.” Haleth said, lowering Ilmarë’s chin and giving her cheek a quick pat. 

Ilmarë was speechless… literally. She’d not been given a chance to do anything more than nod or shake her head during the interrogation. Ereinion sat down next to her again and handed her a cup of hot tea. 

Haleth scurried back and forth across the room, bringing napkins and silverware for them. She patted Ereinion’s shoulder as she walked past him on her way to pick up the tray. 

Upon reaching the door, Haleth opened it and said, “You let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be going to bed soon, but wake me if you need me.” She paused and gave Ilmarë a strange look. “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss Ilmarë… I unpacked all your things like I told you, but now… there were some things in the bottom of one trunk I thought best left where they were. I put the trunk at the foot of your bed.” 

Haleth shook her finger in Ereinion’s direction and said, “Now, don’t keep Miss Ilmarë up too late, or yourself either, for that matter. You’ve got an early day tomorrow. Good night, Master Ereinion, Miss Ilmarë.” 

The click of the door as it latched brought Ilmarë out of her stunned stare. She threw her head back and laughed at the fact that neither she nor Ereinion had been given the opportunity to speak the entire time. 

Ereinion took a drink from his cup and sat it on the table. “That was Haleth,” he said with a nod. 

“I had no idea anyone other than Elves lived here. She was absolutely charming. Are there other Mortals in your household?” 

“Yes, Haleth’s husband, Brandol, takes care of the grounds and the buildings, and their children live nearby and work here as well.” Ereinion said, handing Ilmarë her plate. 

“Many years ago a group of the Edain came from Eregion to Mithlond for a meeting with Vëantur, who was the king of Numenor at the time. Some of the Edain chose to stay in and around Mithlond, and Haleth’s forefathers were among them. Their family has been in my service ever since. I would be lost without them. In fact, I believe Haleth is already grooming her youngest daughter to take her place when the time comes.” 

“Have they all been like Haleth?” Ilmarë asked curiously. “I cannot remember ever meeting anyone as colorful as she appears to be.” 

“Some were like her and others were not,” Ereinion said as he sat back with his own plate. “Take Haleth’s grandmother for instance….she was a rather large woman with an intense dislike of animals. I will never forget the day she came to my study in a rage, covered in mud from head to toe and screaming at me about her fruit trees…” 

The remainder of the evening passed swiftly as Ereinion told tales of Haleth and her family. For a time Ilmarë forgot her troubles…though Elrond’s absence was never far from her thoughts. 

 

~*~

 

NOTES: 

***Edain in Mithlond: The people of Numenor were tribes of Edain, or the men who befriended the Elves, but not all of them left. Some of the Edain stayed in Middle-earth. Sometime in the Second Age, twelve Men of the Edainic tribes remaining in Middle Earth did come to a meeting place in Lindon, the Tower Hills, I think, and, at their request, Ereinion held a meeting between them and the King of Númenor at the time, Vëantur. Whether any of the Edain remained in Lindon or not is supposition on my part. 

***Elrond and Elros’s Choice: They were given a choice after the War of Wrath and we all know the outcome of it; however, it doesn’t say who made their choice first or why exactly either of them chose the way they did.


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight 

 

Ilmarë sat on the floor next to the open trunk and stared at the wall. A letter dangled from her fingertips, threatening to fall from her loose grasp. After Ereinion had seen her to her bedroom and said goodnight, she changed into a nightgown then readied herself for bed, all the while thinking of her dream the first night on the ship. 

_It is not a dream…it is a memory,_ she had reminded herself as she sat on the bed and brushed her hair, _a memory of the day I left Valinor_ – but a memory still shrouded in places. Pieces had come back to her over the past weeks, although the words Melian spoke before leaving the ship remained lost until Ilmarë walked back into this room and spied the chest sitting at the foot of the bed. 

_…There are things hidden beneath your belongings, things you will have need of. Do not forget, and do not open them until you are off the ship…_

Melian and Thingol’s words echoed in her mind as she carelessly tossed the brush onto her dressing table and went to the trunk, pacing around it and chewing her lip. Ilmarë remembered now the discussion between the two voices on the ship, both speaking of defying the Valar. As is usually the case, curiosity soon won out over obedience, and she knelt down to unlock the metal clasp holding the trunk shut. When she opened the lid she found an empty space, as she’d expected. What she had not expected to find was a metal ring affixed to the floor in one corner of the trunk. She preferred the clothes in the trunks from Númenor and so this trunk had never been fully unpacked until Haleth and her helpers removed the contents earlier that day.

Ilmarë leaned over the edge of the trunk and reached for the ring, but before she touched the metal she stopped, quickly curling her fingers back up into the palm of her hand and withdrawing her arm as she sat back on the floor. Did she truly wish to know what was hidden inside, knowing whatever it was, it went against the orders of the Valar? 

With a loud, exasperated sigh she plunged her hand back into the confines of the trunk and pulled the ring up, lest she have foolish doubts to change her mind again. When she pulled on the ring the floor of the trunk gave way and tilted to one side. A false bottom, she realized - a partition for a lower storage space. She lifted the board out of the trunk to set it aside and found herself looking at two fair-sized velvet bags. Other items shared the space, all velvet shrouded but varying in size, from a small pouch to a long narrow item stretching the length of the trunk. Ilmarë saw a letter lying atop the bags and she grabbed this first, her fingers working to quickly break the seal, and she began to read.   
__  
Ilmarë,  
If you are reading this letter then you have safely reached Lindon and for that I am thankful. It should also mean that you have been visited by dreams and know who I am and why these items were secreted away in this manner. Thingol and I did not agree with the plan to send you to Middle-earth in this fashion. We feared for you and others here in Valinor feared as well. Those fears resulted in what you will find hidden in this compartment. 

_Aulë and his people send the bags filled with gifts, to ensure you are well provided for during your time away. Aulë himself sends the ring with you, made in his forges during the early Years of the Trees. He asks that you wear it always and remember he kept it safe for you these many years, hoping the ring would be put to its intended use. What that use is, he did not say. Linquendil gives the dagger to you. It is small and may be concealed if necessary. The blade has been proven, used by him in battle at Alqualondë. He hopes his gift will prove an unnecessary precaution._

_The remaining gifts have powers of their own, contributed to their making by those who give them. The necklace is a gift from Oromë. Though the chain appears delicate - even commonplace – the appearance is purposefully misleading. No being of Middle-earth can break the chain and the jewel itself will shield you from harm. To draw upon its power, you need only call upon the true name of Oromë._

_Had your memory not been taken you would no doubt recognize the sword, for it is the sword of Eönwë and will respond to none but you or Eönwë. You have but to wield it to bring it to life. He sends a message with his gift: that he expects his sword to be brought back by you upon your safe return. Lastly, Thingol and I send the silver collar for you. What pain and damage can be inflicted upon bodies of flesh we have seen firsthand and wish to spare you that. The stone itself heals injury, yet the power will diminish with use, so keep it well and use it wisely, my friend._

_We all defied Manwë and the greater part of the Valar to do this for you. Thingol would have me further defy them by telling you all, yet I cannot bring myself to disobey the Valar so. I would have these last words to you be words of counsel: be on your guard and do not allow your kindness to lead you astray - choose your friends wisely. There is more to this task than you were told and in this hidden purpose you may not succeed. Though Thingol believes the Valar send you as a fatted calf to the slaughter, I believe a chance for happiness awaits you there in Middle-earth. Do not hesitate to take it should that chance present itself to you._

_From the gardens of Lórien I will send you dreams. Watch for me in your sleep, my friend._

_All my love,  
Melian _

__  
Ilmarë now stared at the wall. Her dreams and memories scurried free from the dark corners of her mind where they had been bound by forgetfulness and she watched in silence.

_Melian…my friend._ Ilmarë ignored the tear that slipped from her eye and let it fall to the floor. _Send me your dreams. I will watch for them…and I will not forget…_

~*~

 

Elrond paced, his hands clasped tightly behind his back and his eyes on the patterned rug covering the floor of his library. He repeated his footsteps with each pass across the blue-dyed wool - up the row of golden stars woven into the edge of the rug and back down along the line of white clouds suspended above the silver moon. On most occasions Elrond deeply appreciated the meticulous detail the weavers had put into the rug, but not this evening. He only watched the patterns disappear under the soles of his boots as he paced, waiting to see if the repetitive action helped. 

Despite the late hour, Elrond was not tired. Rest eluded him and the many glasses of wine over the course of the evening had done little good. Nor had the book he had chosen: a dust-covered volume describing the correct way to remove barnacles from the hull of a ship, going into tedious, yawn-provoking detail. He had finally sat the book aside and decided to pace. 

Now the pacing proved useless as well. _A walk outside in the night air will help,_ Elrond told himself, opening the door to his library and walking out into the hall. Looking toward the stairwell, he decided to go in the opposite direction - telling himself taking the hallway connecting the two sides of the second floor was the quicker route. Also telling himself that his chosen route had nothing to do with passing Ilmarë’s door along the way. Upon reaching said door he had convinced himself to check on her. Elrond knew she was in her rooms. Ereinion brought her downstairs not long before and briefly stopped by the library to say goodnight. 

Elrond rapped his knuckles on the wooden door and waited pensively. Disappointment filled him when he received no answer, enough that he took it upon himself to open the sitting room door and peer inside. Seeing the empty room, he sighed but he spotted the closed bedroom door. With the aid of a deep breath to fortify his courage Elrond walked across the room, now telling himself the worst possible outcome would be for Ilmarë to say she did not want company. 

The light knocking on the bedroom door startled Ilmarë out of her trance. She rose to her feet and hurried to the bedside table, folding the letter and shoving it into the top drawer. As she passed the bed Ilmarë grabbed her dressing robe and threw it on, belted it tightly and then opened the door. 

Elrond rehearsed his words while waiting for Ilmarë but she gave him no chance to speak them. Her face broke into a wide smile when she saw him and she held out her hand. 

“Elrond, please… come in. I was just considering whether or not to wait until tomorrow to come find you.” 

He looked at her outstretched hand hesitantly before taking it. He expected a far different greeting than this. At the very least, he had expected her to question his presence there. 

“May I ask why?” he asked as she pulled him into the room and shut the door behind him. 

“Because I wanted your advice.” She tugged on his hand and led him toward the open trunk at the foot of her bed. “I found items hidden beneath the clothing in this trunk and would be glad to have your help to go through them.”

More than one reason came to Ilmarë’s mind when she thought of going to Elrond’s room – she wanted him near to help alleviate her fear at knowingly disobeying the Valar’s orders and also because she hoped Elrond might discover her true nature. But, mostly because his presence comforted her and she merely wanted him there. 

Elrond stood next to Ilmarë as she knelt beside the trunk, uncertain what it was she wanted of him. But when she pulled out one of the bulging bags, he knelt next to her for a closer look. The bag’s weight surprised her. After hauling it out, she sat it on the floor and untied the cord holding it shut. A small gasp escaped her when it fell open. Sparkling jewels and pieces of gold filled the bag and Elrond frowned as he looked into it.

“These things are very valuable, Ilmarë - surely you are aware of that. Where did this come from?” he asked as he picked up a piece of the gold and studied it. He replaced it and examined one of the jewels. 

“Friends who wished to make certain I was provided for,” Ilmarë answered and pulled the second bag out to set it beside the first. A quick look showed the second filled in the same manner as the first, except for the small, engraved metal box metal sitting atop the contents. 

“Well, I would say they were extremely thorough in their efforts,” Elrond said, watching her remove the box. “There is more than enough here to ensure you never need worry for money. And you say these things were hidden beneath your belongings? Why did they feel the need to secret them away? To keep them safe?” 

Ilmarë shook her head, studying the small box. “No…this was done against the Valar’s wishes, or most of the Valar, at any rate. They sent me to Middle-earth with only what I needed, again to prevent interference. But now, after finding these things, I am led to believe it did not occur to the Valar I might need funds and protection.” 

“Protection?” Elrond asked but Ilmarë did not answer for she had opened the box. 

It held a ring, nestled safely in folds of silken gold material – a golden band perfectly shaped and polished, mounted with a white stone. Light tints of lavender and pink colored the stone and golden flecks and veins of brilliant red coursed throughout. Ilmarë showed it to Elrond and he nodded his head. 

“A fire opal… and an excellent example of one. The red in it appears to pulse with true fire.” 

Ilmarë slipped the ring onto her right index finger – a perfect fit. 

“It was made for me; I was asked to wear it always, and so I shall,” she told him as she held her hand out to admire the ring. She pulled another item from the trunk and unwrapped it to find a dagger with a carved pearl handle held in a silver sheath. Ilmarë handed it to Elrond and he nodded his head as he studied it, running his finger over the picture of a high-masted ship scrimshawed into the handle. 

“Many Elven mariners carry knives like this. Círdan once told me sailors always have need of a blade… Did this belong to a mariner?” 

“Yes it did - my friend I spoke of earlier, Linquendil…he sent it for me.” Ilmarë looked at the silver blade as Elrond turned the knife over to examine it. Melian’s words came to mind, of the blade being blooded in battle and it disturbed rather than comforted her, as seemed to be the intention behind the information. 

Elrond replaced the dagger in its sheath and sat it next to the bags. He watched Ilmarë take a small pouch from the chest and noted that she did not seem surprised to find a necklace inside. Pulling it out by the length of the chain, she held it in midair to watch the clear, faceted stone spin as the chain swayed. 

“A nice necklace,” Elrond observed and reached out to finger the tiny links of the chain, “a bit plain, perhaps, but nice nonetheless.” 

Ilmarë nodded in agreement but offered no comment. The necklace had no clasp, but she slipped the length of the chain over her head and the small gem came to rest just between her breasts. She looked down at it, wondering how such a plain thing offered protection worthy of a gift from Oromë. Elrond’s curiosity got the better of him and while the necklace distracted Ilmarë, he peered into the open trunk. He caught the glint of metal and pushed aside the velvet covering the long item in the bottom of the trunk. 

“And this, I assume, is what you meant by protection.” Ilmarë looked up to see Elrond removing a sword from the trunk. 

He hefted it in his hand, and then looked it up and down. The golden hilt had been fashioned in the shape of an eagle. A silver orb held in the clutch of the sharp talons formed the pommel. Four etched lines curved their way around it in a wave-like pattern. Elrond grasped the handle, his fingers closing around the eagle’s legs and body. Feathered wings spread gracefully from the handle to form the cross guard. The proud pose of the broad head formed the top of the hilt, its fierce eyes glaring with sapphire orbs. The silver stream of the blade emerged from the top of the head – the blade almost two feet in length with a furrow running the length of it. 

_A fuller they call this groove…meant to allow the blade more bend…_ Elrond recalled as he ran his finger along the indentation. His finger stilled when he noticed the faint etchings covering the blade on either side of the fuller and he brought it closer for a better inspection of the writing. 

“There is something written on the blade…it appears Elvish, although it must be a very old dialect. Some of the letters and words are unfamiliar to me,” Elrond said turning the blade over and studying the writing carefully. Ilmarë leaned over his shoulder to look at the blade. 

“Can you read what it says, Elrond?” 

“I can make out a portion of it,” Elrond pointed toward one group of words, “this speaks of the lord of the winds and air…” he twirled the sword back to the opposite side and pointed again, “…and on the opposite side of the blade refers to the children of Manwë, but I do not know what that means. It is said the Valar do not bear children.” 

“I would not know,” Ilmarë said, leaning closer to touch the blade with her finger. 

The barest touch of the metal bit into her skin. Ilmarë jumped and jerked her finger away with a quick, hissing breath through her clenched teeth. She stared in wonder at the wound on the tip of her finger. A wide, gaping line split the flesh; the cut edges of skin shown pale but in a heartbeat blood filled the opening and spilled over onto the floor. Ilmarë frowned as her finger throbbed with a highly unpleasant sensation but watched spellbound as the red fluid oozed from the cut. 

Elrond hurriedly put the sword aside, took her hand in his, and examined her finger. Ilmarë continued to stare at the cut and he worried about her reaction. His skills as a healer had been employed many times. He knew some people reacted poorly to their own injuries, but this was not the case with Ilmarë. She simply did not know how to react for she had never faced injury in her mortal form. 

“Does it not hurt, Ilmarë?” She looked at him blankly and he repeated his question. “Does it not cause you pain?” 

“Pain?” _A name for this unpleasant feeling…_ “Yes, there is pain.” 

“Then come back to my study and I will tend to it. But first I need something to bind it with…” Elrond started to grab one of the pieces of velvet cloth, but his voice tapered off when he saw Ilmarë paid no attention to him. A thought occurred to her and she reached into the trunk again, using her uninjured hand to remove the last remaining item. 

She shook the velvet cloth free, the same cloth that wrapped the other gifts, and let it fall to the floor. She held another necklace, this one made of a thick silver band joined by a small silver circle. As she turned it over, Elrond saw a lustrous white stone in the center of the circle. Ilmarë examined the collar, unsure exactly what to do with it. 

_Melian said the stone held the power…_ she recalled and touched it to the cut on her finger. 

A faint vibration ran along Ilmarë’s skin and Elrond’s fingers tightened on her hand. It originated where her finger touched the stone and it flowed throughout her body, building into a hum she could feel in her teeth. Elrond felt it as well and his grip tightened as a shimmering vapor stole from the stone, obscuring their joined hands. A tingle trailed behind the vapor where it brushed along their skin until it reached their fingers, where it swirled in place. The mist hovered for a few moments then retraced its slow, creeping route back into the stone, taking all evidence of Ilmarë’s wound with it. Not even blood remained, save what had spilled on the floor. 

Elrond ran his thumb over where the cut had been and the smooth skin showed no trace of scar. He watched Ilmarë as he pressed on her thumb firmly, and the worried lines on her face eased when she felt no pain. Elrond nodded, obviously satisfied with the results, and Ilmarë exhaled loudly, relieved the stone had healed the wound. 

“Well…the purpose of that gift seems plain enough. It is an unusual property for a necklace to have, is it not?” Ilmarë asked. The healing properties of the collar did not seem to particularly intrigue Elrond and Ilmarë was disappointed, hoping he would use this revelation to reason out her true nature, as Ereinion had. 

“Granted, it is not something I see often, yet I have seen enchanted objects before…even objects like this to aid in healing,” he answered, watching her closely. “There are those among the Elves who produce such things and I have been told there are those on Númenor capable of this craftsmanship as well. Why do you ask, Ilmarë? Does it seem unusual to you?” 

“Well, yes,” she admitted reluctantly. Ilmarë reached around Elrond to pick the sword up from the floor to avoid his gaze. “But then even things that were once familiar to me seem unusual now. I am no expert but it seems like a nice sword…”

“The sword is exceptional… I have never seen its like,” Elrond agreed and watched Ilmarë hold it out before her on her upraised palms. She moved it up and down to test the weight of it and found it lighter than she expected. 

She grasped the handle and held it aloft, turning the blade toward the light so she could study the markings. Ilmarë felt a tremor resonate within the metal and a surge of power raced through her body. Outside the wind stirred, its low murmur building to a raging howl. The balcony doors rattled loudly and burst open, slamming against the walls with a bang. The now-wailing wind announced its entrance by flinging rain and leaves along the floor, and sending a wooden chair skittering across the room. The bed curtains whipped in the air as the driving winds answered the summons of the sword. 

Elrond ran to the balcony doors and Ilmarë looked down at the vibrating sword. Her eyes widened with fear when she saw the eagle’s blue orbs aglow with a living light. With a low cry, she thrust the sword away from her. It rolled down her open palm and struck the floor with a metallic ring, the echo filling the air in the room. No longer called, the wind left as quickly as it had come, withdrawing through the balcony doors just before Elrond reached them. 

Elrond looked out onto the balcony and saw only falling rain – nothing to explain the violent gust of sudden wind. The light faded from the eagle’s eyes and Ilmarë picked the sword up, handling it cautiously. That her touch might bring it to life again terrified Ilmarë, but the sword rested lifeless on her palms. _Was this a warning from the Valar not to break my word by leading Elrond to find out who I truly am?_ Ilmarë thought worriedly.

She could not take that chance and decided it was not right to break her promise, not even in a subtle fashion, merely because she wanted Elrond to know what she was. If he were to know, it must be for a valid reason. 

Ilmarë replaced the sword in the chest and covered it with the cloth, trying to hide her shaking hands as she did. She did not wish to handle the sword anymore, not until something of its nature was revealed to her – she felt it was not right to wield such power without full knowledge of its use. 

“Now that…that is something I have not seen before,” Elrond commented gravely as Ilmarë replaced the other items into the trunk. She decided to wear the ring, and Oromë’s necklace as well. 

“The sword brought the wind here somehow…Why did you drop the sword, Ilmarë? Did you see something?” When she did not answer Elrond sighed and picked the chair up from the floor to replace it near the balcony doors. “Then that is yet another thing you cannot tell me. Can you not even tell me who gave it to you?” 

He saw the sadness on her face as she closed the lid of the trunk. “No, Elrond, I cannot. Although there are things about me I hope you will one day discover.” 

Now perhaps Elrond should have taken what she said in the manner it was offered, but his concerns about her past or where she had come from fled his thoughts…Ilmarë kneeling before the trunk concerned him more. The discoveries he now wished to make were of what lay beneath her robe. She gave him a glimpse as she bent over the trunk. The collar of her robe gaped open far enough to show a hint of the gentle swell of her breasts and the sight captivated him. His racing pulse matched the erratic tempo of the rain drumming against the roof above and his eyes did not leave her as she rose and walked to the balcony doors.

Ilmarë stood as close to Elrond as she dared, uncertain if he had forgiven her for that afternoon. She wrapped her arms around herself and peered out beyond the balcony at the overcast night sky. Elrond turned to look at it with her. Both of them stood silent, their bodies taut with the tension of being close enough to touch, yet neither one sure how to go about it. The pattering of rain against the roof filled the otherwise quiet room, and the splash of it against the stone balcony just beyond the open doors.

“Why did you wish for me to be here with you?” Elrond spoke softly and continued to watch the rain. “I thought you would prefer to have Ereinion here instead.” It had sounded much less petulant when he’d rehearsed it in his mind, but there was nothing to be done now other than wait for a response. 

Ilmarë looked up at him in disbelief, shaking her head emphatically. “No, I did not even consider going to Ereinion about this…only you. I enjoy his company…but not the same manner in which I enjoy yours, Elrond.” 

That admission surprised Elrond - women always preferred Ereinion’s outgoing nature to his introverted quiet. He thought Ilmarë no less susceptible to Ereinion’s charms than the others. He turned and held her gaze for the first time since they’d reached Mithlond. “If you enjoy my company, Ilmarë, why did you refuse it on the ship? Why did you not let me kiss you?” 

Ilmarë dropped her own gaze to the floor. “I told you at the time…I feared you would to come to regret it. Círdan explained the different rules that Elves follow concerning relationships between lovers when he called a halt to ours…” 

Elrond breathed a sigh of relief to hear the regret she spoke of had been her own, but his relief abandoned him at the mention of Círdan. He interrupted Ilmarë. 

“Ours? What exactly did Círdan called a halt to?” 

Ilmarë looked up again, concerned by the demanding tone in his voice. “Our kiss. You see, the night I arrived I drank too…”

“Your kiss? Círdan took it upon himself to kiss you? And you allowed him to…yet you turn mine away?” 

“He did not take it upon himself to kiss me, Elrond…I asked him to.”

“You asked Círdan to kiss you? And why would you make such a request, Ilmarë?”

Ilmarë’s concern quickly turned to impatience. “I am trying to explain to you, Elrond, but you continue to interrupt me with more questions. I will speak quickly but the explanation will go much faster if you would stay your questions until I am finished.”

Elrond’s jaw clenched and his frown did not falter, but he nodded mutely. Ilmarë undertook her hurried explanation before Elrond broke his silence. 

“The night I arrived, Círdan and I drank far too much wine, and I asked him to teach me of intimacy between men and women. In all honesty, I would have asked him to teach me anyway for I wished to know the experience. But he made a wise decision and stopped. Desire affects Mortals more than Elves, I know, yet I see the wisdom of not allowing desire to lead your choices, as the Elves believe. Círdan and I remain friends despite his obvious regret for what I led him to do. After that night he acted distant toward me for days before his discomfort eased. His promise to help me forced him to remain in my company and so eventually he forgave me. Regardless of what he says, I believe he sent me away because of my behavior that first night.”

She lowered her head and whispered, “I did not want you to kiss me because of my obvious desire for you, and then want nothing to do with me once you realized your mistake. I would rather have your company in friendship than to not have your company at all. I feared you already wanted nothing more to do with me after I angered you on the ship.” 

Elrond regarded her in silence for so long Ilmarë decided she had been correct about his anger with her. He touched his finger lightly to her chin and raised her face. 

“You have explained and now I will ask my questions of you, Ilmarë. They require no answer but a simple yes or no.” His finger left her face and Ilmarë was disappointed, but awaited his questions. 

“When you speak of wanting to know the experience…you mean kissing…someone?” Círdan’s name called images to mind Elrond would just as soon do without. Ilmarë nodded. “And this intimacy did not proceed beyond that experience of …kissing someone?” When she shook her head Elrond held back a sigh of relief and the pace of his heart increased as he asked his next question. “You say you have desire for me…is desire all you feel for me, Ilmarë?” 

She hesitated, uncertain again. Elrond stirred feelings in her since first sight and despite the other events of the day, those feelings dominated Ilmarë’s thoughts. While she knew no name for them yet, it was more than desire. The need to have Elrond touch her or kiss her was certainly there, accompanied by a feeling of comfort and ease – a feeling of everything being put to right. 

Elrond worried about the length of time she took to consider his words until she slowly shook her head. His heart skipped to think of Ilmarë returning his feelings for her – at last admitting those feelings to himself. His tension now returned with even greater intensity, brought on by his anticipation. Although Elrond could not attempt to kiss her again…not yet. 

“I was not angry with you…well, perhaps I was…but only at your refusal. I wished to kiss you - not because of your desire for me, but because of mine for you. Although I hold more than just desire for you, Ilmarë.” He paused for a moment, not especially keen to speak of the matter on his mind, yet also not wanting Ilmarë to carry needless guilt. 

“For Círdan to call a halt to your experience…it shows his respect for you and that he did not want to treat you ill. I have no doubt his behavior in the days following was due to uncertainty of how you felt toward him, not anger. He could have been attempting to maintain his control with you. Elves may have a greater ability to control their desire than mortals, but Elves do feel its temptation and have difficulty controlling it at times. Círdan’s friendship with you has little to do with his promise to help.” 

The look on Ilmarë’s face told Elrond she still doubted more clearly than if she had spoken it. “If I promise to help with your task, would that dispel your fears?”

This required more than a simple yes or no answer. “Elrond, I do not want you to feel forced into a promise like that. It is not a fair thing to ask…” 

Elrond stepped closer to Ilmarë and held her face gently between his hands. “You do not ask it…I offer it willingly. I am forced into nothing. Promise or no, I would do all that I could to help you. But I do promise… regardless of what happens between us, I will always aid you in this task, for as long as you need me. Even if you wish for me to never touch you again and you reject my advances. I will have no regrets, Ilmarë…for this promise or anything else.” 

Ilmarë closed her eyes as Elrond ran his thumbs lightly over her skin. Her mortal body demanded its price again and plagued her with its racing heart and tingling skin. She could not even form a valid argument to Elrond’s promise - not while her mind swam with the light-headedness caused by his fingers tracing slow circles on her cheeks. She still doubted what he said, yet Ilmarë cared very little at that point. She wanted only his kiss and his touch, and what price she paid to have it did not matter. 

Her heavy lids opened to look into his earnest grey gaze. Ilmarë whispered, “I have thought of little other than your touch from the moment I first saw you, Elrond…I would not be so foolish as to turn it away a second…” 

But Elrond needed to hear no more. The gentle pressure of his lips upon hers silenced her, and everything…the world, her breath, her heart…stopped in the instant his mouth brushed against hers. 

Elrond’s entire being had been bound in a small, confined box during the long centuries alone, and Ilmarë’s soft hands threading into his hair razed those boundaries. She pulled him closer as her body pressed against his. 

His arm fell to her waist and held her tightly. His hand on her face caressed her skin as tenderly as his lips caressed her mouth. Ilmarë’s tongue began a soft, tentative exploration of his lower lip and his fingers tightened suddenly as he drew in a sharp breath. Elrond opened his mouth and eagerly met her tongue with his own. Each time his tongue filled her mouth Ilmarë strained to push herself closer against him, driven by the feeling that some touch…some contact still eluded her. His back met with the balcony door but he paid little heed to it. His hand left her face and joined the other to travel the length of her back, stopping to grasp her shoulders tightly. 

He drug his mouth from hers and between her labored breaths, Ilmarë moaned in disappointment but it ended in a moan of pleasure. The pressure of his lips flooded her body with burning waves as Elrond’s mouth found the sensitive skin of her neck. His tongue joined in, the skin of it slightly rough after the soft skin of his lips, and Ilmarë clenched her fingers in his hair, both to pull his mouth closer and to help her stay upright despite her spinning head. Elrond gently pulled her skin into his mouth to run his tongue across it. Dizzy from the pleasure and her rapid breathing, Ilmarë let her head fall to the side. Elrond took advantage of this, moving his mouth to the opposite side of her neck as he began his quest of her skin anew. 

Through the bombarding sensations, Ilmarë noticed Elrond’s hand making a slow passage down her back then moving along her waist. His hand paused on her stomach and caressed the skin there before moving higher, hesitantly toying with the skin covering her ribs. Even with her limited experience Ilmarë realized Elrond was trying to work up courage. 

She removed one of her hands from its tangled nest in his hair and covered his hand with it. Elrond stiffened, expecting her to push his hand away, and his lips stilled against her neck as Ilmarë slid his hand slowly up her stomach, guiding it beneath the silken material of her robe. His hand covered the fullness of her breast and she tightened her fingers around his, encouraging him – but Elrond needed no encouragement now. His fingers began to softly knead the firm skin and Ilmarë’s hand dropped away. She felt the warm brush of his breath on the skin of her neck as he groaned. His thumb brushed back and forth against the firm tip beneath her nightgown and Ilmarë jumped in surprise just before her soft groan joined his. 

The heat raged in her stomach and spread downward. Ilmarë used all the effort in her boy to stop her hips from moving, although her clenching muscles fought fiercely. Elrond could not continue, regardless of how badly she longed for him to….

“Elrond…we must stop…” Ilmarë managed to force out between her gasping breaths, “my restraint will not hold much longer…” 

But Elrond’s passion had never before been allowed such freedom and did not wish to surrender its reign. In a swift movement he turned and the weight of his body pressed Ilmarë against the balcony door as his mouth took hers again. His fingers explored her breast and his demanding tongue drove all thought of protest from her mind. Elrond raised his head and his heated, searching gaze caught her off guard. 

“Not yet, Ilmarë…” he pleaded softly, “please…do not make me stop yet.” 

Her heart leapt painfully at the passion burning in his flushed face. Even had she wished to, she could refuse him nothing. 

Her yearning look answered him and to see it so plainly only increased his need for her. He quickly untied the belt of her robe and his lips returned to her neck, lingering on the skin there before moving down her chest as he pushed the front of her robe open. Ilmarë leaned her head back against the door and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his lips against her skin once more. Elrond moved the robe aside to bare her shoulder and then slipped a finger beneath the strap of her gown, gently sliding it down to join the robe. The cool night air chilled her exposed breast just before Elrond’s warm mouth covered it. 

Ilmarë cried out loudly in surprise and passion as Elrond ran his tongue across the tip of her breast. She lacked the strength to keep her body still and now her hips clenched and strained. Ilmarë followed her body’s will and allowed it to rub against Elrond’s in hopes of sating this overpowering need. She cried again as he pulled the tip into his mouth once more and ran his tongue around it. 

“Elrond, please…” she begged breathlessly, although she could not have said for what she begged.

He raised his head and saw the desperate look on her face as her body continued to grind against his. Guilt filled Elrond; he knew her control to be less than his own, such as it was, and he selfishly pushed Ilmarë to this point. The need throbbed within his body and he fought the desire to carry Ilmarë to the bed and take her the way she begged him to. But this could not happen yet…not this way. He held her face and kissed her gently until her body stilled and her breathing slowed. 

“Forgive me, Ilmarë,” Elrond said softly as he continued to kiss her cheeks and lips, “I should have stopped when you asked.” 

Ilmarë shook her head. “No, Elrond…you regret nothing, nor will I. You gave me more pleasure than I thought possible. I would not have forgone that.” He smiled and gave her another round of gentle kisses. When he finished, Ilmarë spoke again, though she feared what she said would break some rule of accepted manners. 

“Elrond…this unfulfilled yearning leads me to believe more pleasure lies ahead …” She swallowed nervously but forced herself not to lower her eyes. “I would share that greater pleasure with you…if it was what you wanted also…” Elrond’s face creased into a frown and Ilmarë immediately regretted her rash impulse. 

“Oh…I should not have said that to you,” Ilmarë said quickly, lowering her eyes. “I am sorry. When you said you felt more for me than desire, I thought…I mean, I should have known you did not speak of love. Please, overlook my inexperience with such things.” 

When Círdan said he did not love her, Ilmarë had not understood why anyone, woman or man, would be upset to hear those words said. Now she understood very well. Where as a few moments ago the pleasure Elrond gave her buoyed her heart, now her heart was squeezed brutally enough to wrench tears from her. To think this feeling for Elrond could be some form of love had been foolish. 

_Love?_ Elrond wanted the thought to stun him or leave him aghast, but in his heart he knew this very thought had kept him awake and pacing his study all evening. To see the awe in Ilmarë’s eyes when she met Ereinion crushed Elrond, and to know she enjoyed Ereinion’s company while he sat downstairs alone and thought of little else but Ilmarë had unsettled Elrond. Could he possibly love her? If he did, Elrond was not prepared to consider so soon. 

Her mortality separated them – an impassable gulf. The gulf could be bridged for a time if he were willing to accept a limited relationship of love and physical pleasure, something to reach its end when she left Middle-earth…or when she died. The thought of staying with her frightened him – almost as much as the thought of walking away from her. 

But he could tell Ilmarë none of this yet. No…he wanted to take away her hurt, not cause her more. 

“Ilmarë, you say Círdan told you of the different beliefs of the Elves. Then did he tell you the ways of the Noldor and their beliefs?” 

His fingers continued to hold her face and caress it, but they gave no comfort. Ilmarë forced her tightening throat back open enough to speak. 

“Then you hold to the belief that to share your body with another signifies marriage?” 

Melian married Thingol, but the Valar granted permission for that. Ilmarë knew enough from the tales she had been told to understand a Maiar marrying outside their Order was a thing not often allowed, and never undertaken without leave. To live with this desire for years until at last she returned to Valinor was something the weakness of her mortal body would not allow. Elrond’s voice interrupted her dire thoughts. 

“I have lived among the Noldor almost all my life and I was raised in their ways, but most of my blood is of Sindarin descent, and the Grey Elves do not hold to that belief. I have never been given a reason to decide between the two until now.” Ilmarë raised her eyes at last and he smiled to see the hope in them. “My feelings for you give me reason to choose, Ilmarë, and my hope is that your feelings for me are enough that you will give me time to make that decision.” 

He had not spoken of love, but he clearly felt strongly about her and that was enough for the time being. “What I feel for you is enough to allow for time, Elrond…yet…will you forgo my company in the mean time? Until you decide?” 

“No, Ilmarë, I could not do that. I will spend all my free time with you, if you will allow it.” 

She finally returned his smile and he noticed her discreet efforts to cover herself. He reached to help and his body stirred at the sight of her bare breast just before the thin material hid it from his view. His fingers left the strap of her gown and he slid them across her chest, taking his time to enjoy her soft skin. The control gained over his desire faltered, and Elrond slowly leaned forward to take Ilmarë’s mouth once more. 

Ilmarë’s jaw clenched and her mouth began to open reflexively. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, a useless effort to stifle the growing yawn. Her body realized its fulfillment had been denied once again and now demanded sleep. Ilmarë’s eyes flew shut and her jaw spread wider and wider until at last her lungs drew in a deep breath and forced it back out. She dropped her hand as she opened her eyes to look at Elrond. 

“Elrond…I am sorry.” Ilmarë spluttered in her embarrassment, certain yawning during a kiss did nothing to further Elrond’s desire for her. 

He laughed and gave her a quick kiss. “I prefer to find out early on the effect my presence truly has on you.” Her embarrassment eased as she joined in his laughter and he said, “I should go now and let you sleep.” 

He pulled away and Ilmarë panicked and grabbed his arms. “No, Elrond, do not go. I want you to… that is, if you would not mind…would you stay here with me?” 

“That is not a good idea, Ilmarë.” 

“Why not? We are both still dressed and we can sleep above the covers.” Ilmarë attempted a light tone of voice as she pointed toward the bed, but failed miserably. She openly pleaded with Elrond. “Please, stay…it is a selfish thing, I know, but I do not want you to leave. If the temptation becomes too much for either of us, you can leave and I will not stop you. But I have to say I am weary enough to fall asleep with no delay.” 

Elrond studied her as he considered her words. What she said made sense, or it seemed to - he had the sneaking suspicion it made sense to him because he did not want to leave. Elrond soon decided he did not care. Right or wrong, he wanted to be with her and so he would not be. 

“If you are certain, then I will stay.” 

Ilmarë led him to the bed and pull back the topmost blanket. She climbed onto the bed and held out her hand for Elrond to join her. And join her he did, sitting on the edge the bed to quickly pull off his boots before he had time to change his mind. He slid beneath the blanket to lie beside her, facing Ilmarë where she rested her head on the pillow. As he returned her stare, Elrond saw her eyes drift shut. She fought to keep them open and continue watching him. He pulled her close and tucked her head beneath his chin. Ilmarë curled against his side, rubbing her face against Elrond’s chest as she breathed in the scent of him and sighed contentedly. 

“Thank you for staying, Elrond.” Her voice sounded slow and distant. “Many nights since I arrived I lay in bed at night, waiting for sleep and feeling very alone. I do not feel alone when you are near.” 

He smiled to hear her voice tapering off and he kissed the top of her head. “Sleep, Ilmarë…I am here and you are not alone.” _Nor am I_ Elrond thought as he listened to her slow, deep breathing and tightened his arms around her. 

Elrond lay awake for a while, enjoying holding her in his arms and having her body near. His eyes soon drifted shut as well and his deep, even breathing joined Ilmarë’s as they slept. 

~*~

 

NOTES: 

Enchanted items: All of these were thrown in there for specific future reasons. The silver collar is straight from the books.

Fuller: This is what the furrow on a sword is really called. I thought it was a ‘blood groove’ but I had a swordmaker tell me I was very wrong. He said some blades will have more than one fuller to give the blade more flexibility.


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine 

 

_The shores of Alqualondë had not changed since last she saw them, hundreds of years before from the deck of a departing ship. But then the lands had been swiftly disappearing from her view; now they swiftly approached and Ilmarë’s hand clutched Melian’s nervously as the ship drew alongside the pier._

_“Nothing ever changes in Valinor,” Ilmarë said softly, more to herself than to Melian._

_After greeting Olwë, and then saying their goodbyes to both him and Linquendil, Ilmarë and Melian set out on a path heading west, away from the havens and away from the Bay of Eldamar, toward the Gardens of Lórien, their home for many years. Their feet traveled swiftly over those enchanted lands and soon they left the base of the Pelori Mountains and reached the break in them known as the Pass of Light. Ilmarë paused and looked out over the range of mountains surrounding Valinor, but her eyes were drawn to one mountain climbing higher than the others, its peak hidden in the clouds._

_One of Ilmarë’s hands stole into her hair as she stared. She separated a lock from the unbound mass and twirled the strand around one slender finger._

_“Are you frightened about returning, Ilmarë?” Melian asked and pulled the hair from around Ilmarë’s finger, holding her hand tightly instead._

_Ilmarë continued to look at the high mountain in the distance. She intended to say no, but she could not. “Yes…it frightens me to think of facing them again…of facing him,” she nodded her head toward the mountain. “He will not have forgiven me…”_

_“You cannot know that, Ilmarë, not until you speak to him. You said you would return to Valinor when Manwë had been allowed enough time to forgive you.”_

_“That I did, Melian, and so I had resigned myself to knowing I would never return to Valinor.”_

_The statement merely acknowledged fact, without self-pity. Melian looked at the mountain and said musingly, “I wonder, Ilmarë…is it his forgiveness you find so difficult to attain, or your forgiveness of him?”_

_Ilmarë turned away and resumed their walk. Melian followed, still holding Ilmarë’s hand. They passed the woods of Oromë to the east and soon an isolated cluster of mountains appeared. The golden roofs of Aulë’s mansions gleamed in the sunlight from a high plateau amidst the mountain peaks. Both Melian and Ilmarë knew their destination lay just ahead._

_Ilmarë sensed their arrival at the Gardens of Lórien long before she saw the tall silver gates set amidst the thick outer wall of evergreen trees. They walked toward the gates and a wide smile spread across Ilmarë’s face when it became apparent no one waited to greet them. She had worried their arrival would be known to those Ilmarë sought to avoid. A moment later her smile became as dim as the shadowy interior of the garden as her worries proved true. Just beyond the gates a spirit moved toward them at a determined pace. Ilmarë stood immobile, watching the misty figure glide down the garden path. When it passed through the wrought silver gates Melian stepped protectively in front of Ilmarë._

_“Leave her be, Yavanna. Neither of us wish to hear anything you may have to say.” Ilmarë leaned close to Melian and made a shushing sound in her ear. She did not want to see her friend bring the wrath of the Valie down upon herself as well._

_Lights danced within the spirit but two small lights hovered close together toward the top of it and they glowed with a deep green light. The green orbs remained where they were as the other lights swirled rapidly, the cloud of the spirit pulling in upon itself to coalesce into the form of an exceedingly tall woman with exceedingly long brown hair and exceedingly angry green eyes. Her voice sounded out as a lilting chorus, somewhere between a whisper and a song…but the beauty of it did nothing to hide the trembling rage._

_“You are no longer in Doriath, Queen Melian,” Yavanna said, using Melian’s title with a sarcastic inflection, ill suited to the soothing tones of her voice. “You rule nothing here in Valinor. Once again you are a servant.”_

_Melian’s gaze did not falter as she returned Yavanna’s glare. “Perhaps…but I am not your servant.”_

_“And whose servant are you now? Do you still serve Estë and Vána…or do you serve the Dark Lord as your friend does?”_

_Tears of rage and pain burned Ilmarë’s eyes at Yavanna’s barb; it hurt no less to hear it now than it had any of the many times the Valie spat it at her. Yet Ilmarë remained silent, knowing nothing she said would ease Yavanna’s anger toward her. Melian made to speak, to defend Ilmarë, but Yavanna’s response bit first._

_“Save your tears for Nienna, Ilmarë – I am not swayed by them. How convenient that you arrive on the heels of rumors of war. Do you come to gather information for your lover? Will you make all in Valinor suffer again as you did when you betrayed us…when you helped to destroy my creations…my trees…”_

_The despair in Yavanna's voice swelled pity within Ilmarë and her tears spilled over. She knew all too well the consuming nature of pain, and once again Ilmarë chose to bear the brunt of Yavanna’s anger if it eased the pain. Melian sensed her friend’s weakening and shook her head as she frowned at Ilmarë. But Ilmarë paid her no mind._

_“Yavanna…” she began, yet Yavanna’s pain had grown too strong and she would not listen._

_“Do not speak to me…do not poison the air of Aman with your deceitful words. I have come here only to order you to leave these lands. You have no place here. Return to the island, or better yet, find passage to the Mortal Lands. Seek out your lover and take the fiend to husband at last…”_

_The wind rose swept along Ilmarë’s back as it drowned out Yavanna’s indignant tirade. A golden light danced around her, growing stronger until it began to take shape of a tall man, golden and beautiful, his stance proud and his gaze stern. The wind clung to his body and formed a sleeveless robe of shimmering white trailing the ground. His strong, bare arms wrapped protectively around Ilmarë and the wind made his golden hair dance around her. Yavanna waited silently as the man fixed his sky blue eyes upon her._

_“Have you spoken to Manwë concerning the plans of marriage you make for my sister? Perhaps he is aware you take it upon yourself to banish her from the lands Manwë rules…not you.” Eönwë smiled, but the warning he sent was clear. “Should you have matters to discuss with Ilmarë I would suggest you first discuss those matters with your King and Queen …or with myself…or even your own husband. Tell me, Yavanna, is Aulë aware of the greeting you give Ilmarë and Melian?”_

_The mention of her husband did not please Yavanna. Though she did not speak it, her glaring green eyes did. “Take care not to overstep your bounds, Eönwë. You do not speak for Manwë.”_

_“On the contrary, Yavanna - as his herald, I do speak for Manwë. Whom do you think sent me here? It would be best if you left. I made a brief visit to your home on my way here and Aulë is now quite anxious for your return.” Eönwë gestured toward the gates of Lórien. “Unless you would care to join us in the gardens? The repose of Lórien might improve your state of mind.”_

_Yavanna studied each one of them in turn with her angry eyes, but her baleful gaze rested longest on Ilmarë, who squirmed beneath the weight of it. Yavanna made a dismissive sound and encompassed them all with a disdainful stare._

_“I will take my leave of you three…abominations.” The boundaries of her form collapsed and fell back into spirit. It took to the air where it sped in the direction of the mountain mansions. Ilmarë’s shoulders sagged in relief and Eönwë put an arm around Melian as well, keeping both women close as he escorted them into the gardens._

_“I will go to Irmo and Estë’s dwelling,” Melian said once they entered the gardens. “The sun is not much longer for the sky; they should be rising soon. I will wait for the two of you there. I am happy to see you again, Eönwë.”_

_She leaned up to kiss his cheek and he accepted it with a smile. “Thank you, Melian. We will not be long.”_

_Melian walked away and Ilmarë and Eönwë continued straight ahead, past fountains and garden rooms until they reached the vast fields of poppies. A bench sat in the center of one field, surrounded by red flowers, slowly waving as they spilled their heady fragrance. Eönwë seated Ilmarë next to him and she rested her head gratefully against her brother’s broad shoulder._

_“Pay no attention to Yavanna. I know it is difficult, Ilmarë, but you must. I will not have her chase you away again when you have only just returned. She will vent her anger on you for as long as you allow it.”_

_Ilmarë sighed sadly and repeated her earlier words. “Nothing in Valinor ever changes.”_

_“That is not true, Ilmarë, and you well know it. More things change here than you are aware of.”_

_She lifted her head from his shoulder. “Did Manwë truly send you?”_

_Eönwë refused to meet her eyes, but at last said, “No, he did not. But you must understand, there are many dire thoughts occupying his mind at the moment.”_

_“Such as war?”_

_Her question surprised Eönwë. “How do you know of the talk of war?”_

_“Yavanna told me…she said it was why I had returned. To spy.”_

_Eönwë shook his head; to comment on Yavanna’s selfish accusations would be wasted breath. “There is one who seeks his way to Valinor as we speak, the mariner who was foretold: Eärendil. The Council believes he comes to ask our help to battle Morgoth.”_

_“What will be done, Eönwë?”_

_“War…war will be done. There is no other way. Morgoth must be defeated; we all know this now.”_

_“And what of…him? Will there be pardons offered?”_

_Eönwë knew whose name Ilmarë would not speak. His face became a mask of disgust and anger. “There will be pardons offered to those who surrender…but there will be none offered to him. I will see to it. He will be captured and his form executed, then his spirit will be thrown into the Void with his master.”_

_Ilmarë’s mind raced, but she hid all thoughts from Eönwë except her despair. “How long will it be before this war begins?”_

_“None know. We must wait to see if the mariner reaches us. All will be decided then.”_

_Ilmarë stood suddenly, unable to hide her choking fear. Eönwë had known this would cause her pain, but he felt it was for the best. Then his sister could live a full existence again without the memory of betrayal to haunt it._

_“Eönwë, find Melian, please. Wait there with her until I return.” He opened his mouth to protest and she backed away, saying, “Please…I just need time to be alone, to think. I will not be long.”_

_Eönwë sighed and gave a reluctant nod of agreement. When he did, Ilmarë turned away and did not look back, her thoughts focused only on leaving Lórien and reaching Taniquetil quickly. She crossed the lands of Valinor as quickly as her form would allow, but even that hastily undertaken journey seemed far too long for Ilmarë in her panic._

_She reached the base of Taniquetil and her panic eased some, yet she did not slow until she was far up the mountain, to the point where the clouds grew thick and obscured the upper peak from view._

_Ilmarë took a path leading off into the mist… a path leading to a stone structure. A building came into view, of tall columns placed close together and a steepled roof over it. An enormous nest covered the floor, one made of soft grasses and fragrant flowers, and in the center of the nest rested a giant eagle. The bird saw her coming. He rose and walked out to meet Ilmarë, stretching his graceful copper wings as he did and giving a very gentlemanly nod when she reached his side._

_“Erinti, it is good to see you again. I did not know you had returned to Valinor.”_

_Ilmarë bowed to the eagle in return and said, “I have not been here long, and I am overjoyed to see you again, mighty Sorontur. May I say you are as impressive as ever.”_

_The eagle cocked its head to the side and if one knew where to look in his golden eyes, one could see the humor dancing there._

_“What is it you come to ask of me? You are much like Varda; she, too, lavishes praise upon me before asking a favor,” Sorontur said in a knowing voice._

_Ilmarë smiled at having been caught, but her apprehension returned along with the pressing urgency to act quickly._

_“Manwë sends you out into Arda to be his eyes and his ears, does he not?” When Sorontur did not respond, Ilmarë said, “Please, do not be coy with me, Sorontur… there is no time. I know you watch not only Valinor, but the lands beyond as well. Many were the times I saw your graceful form circling the skies near my home on Eressëa, and I knew Manwë had sent you to look in on me.”_

_Sorontur shook his feathers with a rustling sound. When they lay flat against his body once more the eagle drew himself up to full height, which was an imposing height, indeed._

_“The tasks I perform for Manwë are between myself and him alone, Erinti; you have always known that.”_

_“I know, Sorontur, and I do not fault your loyalty to him. I have come to ask that you perform a task for me that must remain between you and I alone. I know without doubt I can trust you…if you will agree to the task.”_

_“I will listen…” Sorontur said, eyeing Ilmarë closely._

_“Manwë has sent you to Middle-earth at times, as well. In light of what is happening now, mostly likely he has sent you very recently to gather news for him.” Sorontur did not disagree and Ilmarë said, “Most likely you have been sent to watch the dark servants there and judge the threat they pose. Have you seen him, Sorontur? Please tell me…do you know where he resides in those lands?”_

_Like Eönwë, Sorontur knew whose name it was Ilmarë refused to speak. “I have not seen him, yet I know where it is he stays. For what reason do you ask me of such things?”_

_“I want you to take me to him.”_

_Sorontur’s feathers ruffled in surprise and shock, rustling loudly as he shook his body. He stamped his feet and bobbed his head at Ilmarë before he spoke indignantly. “I will do no such thing. How dare you even ask it? Do you wish for those in Valinor to believe the outlandish insults Yavanna hurls at you?”_

_“Hear me out before you decide...” Ilmarë said, holding her hands out to him. “I have just come from Eönwë, who told me of the tidings of war. You must take me to Middle-earth and let me speak with him, for if he is captured there will be no hope of pardon. Yet Melian says there has been no word of him for many years now. He has been in Morgoth’s service long enough to discover all the fair promises made to him were false. He was proud and he was selfish, yes…but he was not evil. I do not believe he was then, nor is he now. Eönwë and Manwë will unfairly deny him the chance of pardon because of me. I believe that, given the chance, he will repent and return to Valinor. He cannot be happy in those lands... if he is given a way back he will take it.”_

_“You are wrong to say Eönwë and Manwë’s denial of pardon would be unfair, Erinti,” Sorontur said, the look in his eye now stern. “You have no idea the evils he has done at the command of his new master. How can you think of showing any kindness to him after what he has done to you…after what you have suffered on his behalf?”_

_Ilmarë had to take a few deep breaths before she could force out the words that shamed her beyond measure. “I love him still…I love what he once was and what I believe he still is. And so it shall always be, until I know without doubt the being I loved no longer exists in him. You knew him, Sorontur - he was once your friend and dear to you. Would you not wish to see him returned to us as he was? That is why I come to you with this and why you are the only one I can trust. Even had I the time to fashion a new form to take me to Middle-earth, there is not time to search its wide expanses in hopes of finding him.”_

_She sensed the great bird’s doubt as he considered her words and she added, “I only wish to talk to him for a short time, to offer him a chance to prove he is worthy of a pardon – nothing more. Then you and I will return with all haste to Valinor. There will be no consequences for your kindness should I be found out. I will say I acted alone and all blame and punishment will fall on me.”_

_The eagle settled his body on the ground as he looked away into the distance, debating his answer. It seemed forever to Ilmarë before he reached the conclusion. Her heart broke with disappointment to see Sorontur lower his eyes to the ground and shake his head slowly._

_“I am sorry, but I cannot agree with what you say. It is a kind notion on your part, but unacceptable nonetheless.”_

_The eagle had been her only hope of reaching Middle-earth in time. But before Ilmarë lowered her head, the movement of a large wing spreading out across the ground caught her eye._

_“If we are found out, I will bear my own burden of punishment and blame, Erinti.” She looked at him in disbelief and a spark of humor returned to the golden eyes. “You spoke true – he was dear to me at one time. If there is a chance to have my friend returned to me as he once was, then I will do what I can to offer it to him. Even if that were not the case, you have always been my friend and I would do what I could to help you.”_

_Ilmarë climbed nimbly up the wing so considerately provided for her. She seated herself on the eagle’s shoulders, wrapping her arms around his neck and rubbing her face against the smooth feathers._

_“Thank you, Sorontur…thank you, my true friend. You will not regret your kindness.”_

_The eagle spread his wings in preparation for flight and gave a moment’s pause. “My only hope is that you do not come to regret yours.”_

_And with that he rose, the powerful wings gathering the air beneath them. Sorontur climbed higher before he stretched his wings out, making a fluid arch against the sky, turning them around and flying toward the east, away from Valinor. The rush of the wind blew Ilmarë’s hair out behind her head into a rippling line and the sound of the beating wings filled her ears…the beating wings…the beating…_

The beating on her bedroom door… Ilmarë sat up straight in bed and looked around wildly, unsure of where she was for a moment. _My bedroom…my room in Círdan’s home._ She shook her head, trying to focus, and corrected that thought. _No, my room in Ereinion’s home, in my bed, next to…_

Elrond. Ilmarë reached for the space next to her, finding nothing but a pillow and rumpled blankets. She ran her hand over the indentation left by his body in the feather mattress and smiled wistfully, the memory of Elrond lying next to her driving away the strange dream. Another knock on the door made her jump and she got out of bed, tying her robe shut as she walked to answer it. Ilmarë could not believe she had mistaken the light rapping for the beating of giant wings. _Melian’s dreams are very disconcerting._ Ilmarë opened the door to find Ereinion’s handsome face waiting on the opposite side. 

“Good morning, Ilmarë. Did you sleep well?” he said with a bright smile. 

Ilmarë smiled herself, thinking of Elrond next to her as she fell asleep. “Yes, I did. I slept very well…for the most part,” she added, recalling the dream. She remembered the sword in the chest and grabbed Ereinion’s hand pulling him into the room. “Ereinion, come inside…there is something I wish to show you.” 

His smile widened and Ereinion pushed the door shut as he was pulled inside. “I beg your pardon, Ilmarë. I am unsure what Círdan told you of me, yet I am not usually so easily enticed into women’s bedrooms. Although yours is a flattering proposal, I must say…” 

Ilmarë gave him a dour look and Ereinion laughed. His laughter tapered off when he saw the dried blood on the floor and the leaves and grass scattered across the damp rug. 

“What happened here?” he demanded, frowning. 

Ilmarë opened the chest and showed him the contents. He inspected them while Ilmarë went to the bedside table and retrieved the letter. She handed it to Ereinion, and he unfolded it and began to read. 

“I was told to look in the chest when I arrived in Lindon, but my memory of it did not fully return until last night. I cut myself on the sword and Melian’s necklace healed it,” Ilmarë said, watching Ereinion as he looked over the letter. “When I held the sword a violent wind blew into the room and when I put it down, the wind went away.” 

Ereinion nodded absently as his eyes traveled over the paper. When he finished, he folded the letter again, knelt next to the trunk and picked up each item, inspecting each one closely before replacing it. The sword he studied for several minutes, much longer than anything else. Taking Ilmarë’s hand, Ereinion looked the ring over then he lifted the chain from her neck and examined the stone closely. At last, he looked at Ilmarë. 

“If Oromë is not his true name, what is?” Ereinion asked. 

Ilmarë shrugged her shoulders. “I do not know,” she admitted, “it is not among my memories. I hoped you might know.” 

“I am afraid I do not, but I will see if I am able to find out,” Ereinion said and lowered the necklace. “A sword that calls the wind...fitting for a sword belonging to the herald of Manwë. What will you do with all this? It is not safe to leave these things lying about.” 

“No, it is not,” Ilmarë agreed. “Would you keep them for me? I do not know what else to do with them.” 

Ereinion closed the lid of the trunk and latched it shut. “I will have the servants take this upstairs to my rooms and I will keep them safe for you, Ilmarë, until you need them.” She nodded in thanks. “Do you plan to tell anyone else about this?” 

“I will tell Círdan, of course, and Elrond knows.” 

Ereinion head jerked up in surprise. “Elrond? When did you show them to him?” 

Ilmarë sighed, still disappointed, and said, “Last night. I hoped it would give him some indication as to what I truly was. I was unsuccessful and I will not try again. If Elrond will know, he must find out for himself.” 

“Well, Ilmarë, Elrond has seen many unusual things in his lifetime. It is not surprising he would be unaffected. But I believe he will sort it out soon enough. While Elrond is not familiar with the presence of a Maia, he does carry Maia blood.” 

A look of realization spread across Ilmarë’s face. Elrond carried some small part of Melian’s spirit. “Yes…I had forgotten about that. Do you think that will somehow help him sense what I am, as you sensed it?” 

“I believe it could, yes…in fact, I believe it already has. Elrond seems very familiar and comfortable with you. Perhaps he already senses what you are…he has just mistaken it for something else…” 

Ereinion’s voice trailed off as the trunk drew his attention, and he stared at it. Ilmarë pondered his words and the possibility of Elrond feeling the call of one Maiar spirit to another instead of true attraction…or love. While possible, Ilmarë chose not to consider it for the moment and she concerned herself with Ereinion’s distracted mood instead. 

“Ereinion…what is it?” Her soft voice gained his attention, but he continued to gaze at the trunk. 

“That sword…” he said absently, “calls to mind my dream last night. There was a stone building high on a mountain, and in the building lived an eagle called…” 

“...Sorontur,” Ilmarë finished for him. To hear her speak the name gained Ereinion’s full attention. “What else did you see, Ereinion?” 

“Like all the other dreams, some details are clear and others are vague impressions. I did see another set of mountains with large houses built on top, and…I am unsure how to explain it. There was just an overall feeling of sorrow and loneliness. How did you know the eagle’s name? I heard him say the name Erinti.” 

“I am Erinti. It is a name I was known by when I was still young, if a Maia may be considered as ever having been young. Erinti means a time when flowers grow and bloom…when life begins anew. I believe it is referred to as Spring in your language. Although I would not have known the eagle’s name had I not seen the same dream myself last night. What you saw was quite real, Ereinion. You read the letter…you know Melian sends my memories now in the form of dreams. Somehow you are affected by the dreams she sends me, but I do not understand why.” Though she was thankful his dreams lacked the clarity of hers.

Ereinion thought this over in silence and said, “Then the dreams I had of Eressëa…?” 

Ilmarë blushed and nodded. “I am afraid I was not completely truthful with you about that. I lived on Eressëa and the house you saw was the home I shared with Eönwë. Melian lived there for a time, but when Thingol returned from Mandos they built their own home, not far away on the island. I am sorry I tried to deceive you, Ereinion.” 

He laughed and said, “I understand why you felt you had to, Ilmarë, and do not feel too all together bad – you did a very poor job of it. I already suspected you were being less than honest.” Ereinion frowned. “As much as I dislike giving such a recommendation, you need to learn how to go about being successfully untruthful.” 

“I am not certain what you mean by that, Ereinion.” 

He thought for a moment, and then said, “My friend I spoke of from Númenor, he was a mariner, and mariners enjoy card games to keep them occupied on long ship journeys. Do you know what I speak of?” Ilmarë nodded, for she had seen Linquendil and Círdan’s mariners playing with cards, although had never joined them. “When I first started playing with them I lost a good deal financially until I learned to keep my face from betraying what I thought. Your face announces everything going on in your mind, Ilmarë, and considering the nature of your task, it is a trait you would do best to be rid of. Every time I hit close to the mark with my words, I saw it in your face. You must learn to keep your features from betraying you, particularly about things you do not wish for others to know.” 

“I understand, Ereinion, and I will learn to do this. Although I fear I must rely on you to help me.” 

“I will help you…with the condition that you never practice your skills on me.” He smiled as he said this, but Ilmarë could see he meant it. “Never feel you need to mislead me, Ilmarë. You may always tell me the truth concerning anything.” 

“I will,” she agreed. “If I am learning to be more discrete, then perhaps I should use a different name. Círdan suggested it to me before. If you and Elrond recognized the name of Ilmarë, then others will as well.” 

“I think you may safely leave your name as it is, for now. I knew it because of childhood tales from my father, but even among the Noldor there are few in these lands who would recognize your name. Elrond knows it only from the few tales I have given him to record in his books. Even if there were Elves who knew the name, they also know it truly is common among Mortals to name their children for characters in tales or histories. I do believe even Mortals draw the line at using the Valar’s names…yet I have heard the names of Maiar used before. I do not see it as a problem for the time being. I rather like the name Ilmarë…although Erinti is lovely as well.” 

Ereinion sighed and backed toward the door. “And now, as much as I would like to stay in your exclusive company, we must go downstairs. Haleth sent me up to bring you to breakfast and it would bode ill for both of us if we kept her waiting.” 

He reached the door and opened it, adding, “I will wait for you in the sitting room again while you make yourself ready. I give you fair warning – I expect the same short wait with the same beautiful results as yesterday, Lady Ilmarë.” 

He bowed his head formally ad she laughed at his blatant sport of her then gave a small curtsy. “I will endeavor to do my best, Your Highness.” 

Ereinion returned her laugh as he shut the door behind him. Excited at the thought of seeing Elrond again, Ilmarë hurried to the washroom to clean up and get ready for the day ahead. 

 

 

~*~

 

 

NOTES:   
Taniquetil: The highest mountain in Aman, on which Manwë and Varda live. 

Alqualondë: The swan havens of the Teleri Elves in Valinor. 

Bay of Eldamar: The bay on the eastern coast of Valinor – Alqualondë is at the uppermost point of it, and Eressëa sits just off this bay. It’s also known as Elvenhome. 

Pass of Light: Also called Calacirya. The Valar opened it up so the light of the Trees could reach Eressëa and Eldamar. The hill of Túna sat along the Pass of Light so the Elves could still see the stars from one side, where the light of the Trees was shadowed. 

Pelori Mountains: The range of mountains that surrounded Valinor, raised by the Valar to keep Morgoth from sneaking up on them again. 

Nienna: Another of the Valar. It says she is ‘Lady of pity and mourning, sister of Mandos and Lórien’. She was a much darker character in BoLT, her halls that sat near the Walls of the World were the equivalent to Men as what the Halls of Mandos was to Elves. But this was before Tolkien decided to have Men’s souls go beyond the circles of the world. She was spooky – ‘Therein before her black chair burnt a brazier with a single flickering coal, and the roof was of bats’ wings, and the pillars that upheld it and the walls about were made of basalt. Thither came the sons of Men to hear their doom…’ 

Aulë’s Mansions: The homes of the Valar are described in the Book of Lost Tales 1, but sadly, for some reason, they did not make it into the Silmarillion. This is what it says about Aulë’s mansions: ‘Separate from these and bordering upon the open Vale was a great court, and this was Aulë’s house, and it was filled with magic webs woven of the light of Laurelin and the sheen of Silpion and the glint of stars, but others there were made of threads of gold and silver and iron and bronze beaten to the thinness of a spider’s filament, and all were wove with beauty to stories of the musics of the Ainur…. In this court were some of all the trees that after grew upon the earth, and a pool of blue water lay among them. There fruits fell throughout the day, thudding richly to the earth upon the grass of its margin, and were gathered by Palurien’s (Yavanna’s) maids for her feasting and her lord’s.’ 

I love the descriptions from BoLT and wish they could have been kept in the Silm. I’ll add the descriptions of the other Valar’s homes as they come into the story. Speaking of which: 

The Woods of Oromë: ‘Now Oromë had a vast domain and it was beloved by him… Behold, the groves of trees they planted upon the plain of Valinor, and even upon the foothills have no compare on Earth. Beasts reveled there, deer among the trees, and herds of kine among its spaces and wide grass-lands; bison there were and horses roaming unharnessed but these strayed never into the gardens of the gods, yet were they in peace and had no fear, for beasts of prey dwelt not among them, nor did Oromë fare to hunting in Valinor.’ 

Yavanna: The Vala known as the “Giver of Fruits’; and Aulë’s wife. One of the forms she appeared in was that of a tall woman dressed in green. 

Eönwë: The herald of Manwë, who was mentioned with Ilmarë in the Silm as being among the mightiest of the Maiar. He led the Valar in their attack on Morgoth in the War of Wrath, and came to speak with Maglor and Maedhros about the Silmarils, as well as offered the choice to Elrond and Elros. As I said before, in BoLT and Morgoth’s Ring, he and Ilmarë were brother and sister and the children of Manwë and Varda. How I’m using that will come out later in the story, but I’ve given hints of it so far. 

Sorontur: This was an early version of Thorondor, King of the Eagles, again from BoLT. I just liked the name Sorontur better. The eagles were servants of Manwë and he did use them to gather information and bring back to him on Taniquetil. In Morgoth’s Ring, Myths Transformed, Professor Tolkien toys with the idea that Huan the Hound and Thorondor and the other eagles and animals of that sort were actually Maiar who had taken those forms. So that’s the idea I’m going with here. 

Erinti: One of the earlier names of Ilmarë. It doesn’t give a real meaning for it in the BoLT index of names – it just says that on the name-list Erinti is also called Kalainis and that word means May. So what she tells Ereinion is just my take on the meaning of the name.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten 

 

Ilmarë saw no sign of Elrond when she walked downstairs with Ereinion, but it was not for lack of looking. Once at the foot of the stairs, they turned and walked down the western hallway. Ilmarë peered in every open doorway trying to catch sight of her elusive late-night visitor. By the time they reached the dining room at the end of the long, marble corridor, Ilmarë was tempted to go back and look behind the closed doors as well. Elrond was nearby…she knew it - she could feel it in every impatient, agitated bone in her bothersome body. 

“It would appear that Elrond has not yet risen. Have you seen him this morning?” Ilmarë was pleased that she had managed to sound only mildly curious. 

Ereinion opened the large carved doors to the dining room and allowed Ilmarë to enter first. “I have not seen him this morning but Haleth told me he had already eaten. More likely than not he is in the main study down the hall. That is where we usually tend to business matters. We passed it when we first came down the stairs. We will go there after breakfast.” 

A smile crept onto Ereinion’s face as Ilmarë walked past him. “I hope you are not weary of my company so early in the day, Ilmarë. If so, it will make for a tedious day as I planned to spend the morning and the better part of the afternoon escorting you around Mithlond. I thought you might like to see the city and learn about my kingdom.” 

As anxious as she was to see Elrond again, Ilmarë did truly enjoy Ereinion’s company. His open and easy-going nature made her feel very comfortable, and the thought of spending the day with him was a pleasant one. She believed that Ereinion’s friendship, like Círdan’s, would prove to be one of great value. 

“It would be a witless woman who would tire of your company, Ereinion. I may be lacking in experience but I assure you, I do not lack for wit. I would enjoy seeing Mithlond and being taught of Lindon. I must become more familiar with the political dealings of these lands if I am to be of any use. Perhaps we could ask Elrond along, as well?” 

“Perhaps,” Ereinion said and motioned for Ilmarë to walk with him across the room, “or perhaps not. I enjoyed keeping you all to myself last evening. Although I must say, I will also enjoy being seen around the city with such a lovely companion. It will make me the center of attention and that is something everyone seems to assume I take pleasure in.”

Ilmarë slowed her pace and looked closely at Ereinion when she caught the hint of resentment in his voice. 

“And would they be wrong in that assumption?” 

“There is a rather dramatic difference in taking pleasure in something and having no choice but to become accustomed to it. Come now, the morning room is just through here.” Ereinion’s hurried tone showed he did not wish to pursue the conversation and so Ilmarë left it alone. 

She followed Ereinion through the large dining room with long tables of dark wood on the floor and crystal chandeliers draped across the ceiling. They crossed the room and he opened the door to what he called the morning room. After the dark of the dining room, it seemed especially airy and welcoming. Beacons of morning sun streamed through the windows and were made all the brighter by the white floors and walls. Ereinion showed her to the table in the center of the room. 

No sooner had they sat than Haleth backed her way through a door on the far side of the room with a plate in each hand. Before the door swung closed Ilmarë saw into the room beyond where the kitchen help went about their morning tasks. 

“Good morning to you, dear,” Haleth said as she sat a plate in front of Ilmarë and then Ereinion. “How was your first night…did you sleep well?” 

Ilmarë nodded and started to speak, but was not unduly surprised when she was interrupted by Haleth waving her hands toward the plates. 

“The two of you eat up now, before it gets cold.” Haleth retrieved a pitcher from a nearby serving table and took to filling their glasses. 

Ereinion watched her with an amused smile. “I must say, Haleth, you look younger and more beautiful with each passing day.” 

Haleth gave him a small ‘hmmph’ and after the glasses were filled she rested a hand on Ilmarë’s shoulder. 

“Now there’s a lesson to be had here, Miss Ilmarë. It’s when people start telling you how young you look that you know you’re getting old.” 

Ilmarë raised her napkin in front of her mouth to hide the grin and Ereinion’s look of indignance clearly tickled Haleth. She laughed out loud and hurried over to plant a kiss on his cheek. 

“Be careful of this one,” Haleth said as she fondly patted Ereinion’s shoulder. “He’s got a silver tongue and shows no shame in using it to get his way. Master Ereinion loves to talk, to be sure. He’d talk to a tree if he thought it would listen.” 

Haleth’s last comment was thrown over her shoulder as she pushed through the swinging door back into the kitchen. Ereinion made sure Haleth was well out of hearing distance before he spoke.

“I lack the bravery needed to state the obvious to Haleth, even if she could remain quiet long enough to listen. In all fairness, I have yet to see her talking to a tree.” Ereinion considered this for a moment and added, “Yet, there was an occasion when I witnessed her yelling at a piece of firewood.” 

Haleth shouldered her way through the door again and Ereinion whispered. “We will have to finish this discussion another time.” 

Ereinion’s comment drew a very un-ladylike snort from Ilmarë – she did not think to hide her amusement. He shot her a warning glance, and Ilmarë focused on her food and tried to keep a straight face, but Haleth paid no attention. She had placed a tray of fruit on the table, picked up a piece and began slicing it, then resumed her monologue as though she had never left the room. 

“Master Elrond, on the other hand…he’s an altogether different matter. So quiet and polite - hardly says a word. Hard to get that one to talk, I’ll tell you that right now. Don’t know if talking to him could even be called a conversation seeing’s how I have to stop every so often and give him a close look…just to make sure he’s still listening. Poor dear, he always seems so sad.” Her mouth turned down in a regretful frown and she shook her head. 

“That’s a true shame, that is. He’s got a lovely smile when he shows it.” Haleth stopped in mid-ramble. Her eyes went wide and she drew in a sharp breath as she looked at Ereinion. “And he sure enough was showing that smile this morning.” 

Listening to Haleth had left Ilmarë with a sense of confusion beyond what was normal for someone trying to keep up with the rapid chatter. After a moment’s contemplation she decided that Haleth must not know Elrond very well, for her description sounded nothing at all like him. Although Ereinion did not seem put out by it. In fact, from the way he nodded absently as he ate Ilmarë wondered if he was even paying attention to Haleth. The puzzled tone of Haleth’s voice caught his attention as she handed out the plates of sliced fruit. 

“Tell me, have you seen Master Elrond yet this morning?” Ereinion looked up to shake his head. “Well, I saw him. That is, I think it was him. It looked like him, but certainly didn’t behave like him. I was on my way to fetch Miss Ilmarë when I met Master Elrond in the hall and oh was he smiling…smiling, mind you. But he almost put me into a swoon when he spoke first – said good morning and how are you today. It’s like pulling teeth to get him to speak at all, let alone speak first.” 

Haleth turned her disbelieving gaze on Ilmarë. “Didn’t you find him overly cheerful this morning, Miss Ilmarë?” 

Ilmarë decided this was a perfect opportunity to begin the practice of not letting her face betray her, but discovered it was a difficult thing to keep your face impassive while your mind raced frantically. 

_Does she know? I am not so simple that I do not realize Elrond’s staying in my room would be frowned upon. Yet Haleth asks that question with no disapproval, so perhaps she does not know…_ Ilmarë shook her head trying to appear as though she had no idea what Haleth was referring to, hoping she could trust Haleth to be predictable. It was trust well placed for Haleth resumed her chatter without further ado. 

“Hhhmph…fancy that. I told Master Elrond I was on my way to wake you and he asked me not to do that just yet. He reminded me you’d had quite the long day yesterday and could do with a little extra sleep. Said you still seemed tired and I thought he’d just come from seeing you, so I had to agree with him.” Haleth took Ilmarë’s empty plate and gave a long-suffering sigh as she collected Ereinion’s as well. 

“I keep forgetting Elves like Master Elrond and Master Ereinion seem to just know things at times.” Haleth carried the plates back to the kitchen and continued her talk, although now it seemed to be more for herself than for Ilmarë or Ereinion. 

“Always calling it foresight or some such thing. Well, if you ask me I think it’s all that rummaging around they do in one another’s heads. Makes me happy none of them trouble me with any such nonsense…I’d feel like I was walking around in my slip, with nothing to cover myself.” Her muttering was ended when the door swung shut behind her.

“I am without doubt not brave enough to comment on that remark.” Ereinion had been studying Ilmarë silently during Haleth’s diatribe, and when she did not respond to his teasing his face grew troubled. “Ilmarë?” 

She looked up from the table and said, “I am sorry, Ereinion. I still feel slightly tired this morning.” 

He nodded his head and stood, then offered his arm to Ilmarë. “We should go now. I need to find Elrond and speak with him before we leave.” 

Ilmarë took Ereinion’s arm and they went to the swinging door before leaving, standing in the doorway as Ereinion pushed it open. Inside the kitchen, Haleth was at the sink washing dishes with the help of a woman who was a younger, slimmer version of Haleth. Ereinion introduced her as Adanel, Haleth’s daughter, and thanked them both for the meal. Adanel gave Ilmarë a smile and a bow, which Ilmarë gladly returned. 

After exchanging a look with Ereinion, Haleth said, “Miss Ilmarë, Adanel and I will come to your room later this afternoon and help you get ready for dinner.” 

Ilmarë looked to Ereinion with a pleading expression, but he only said, “Thank you, Haleth. That is very kind of you.” 

The door swung shut behind Ereinion and Ilmarë as they left, and Adanel set her dishrag aside to study her mother with narrowed eyes. “Why will we be doing that? Miss Ilmarë appeared none too happy about the idea so I’m led to believe that it’s not something she asked of you.” 

“No, she didn’t…Master Ereinion did. Said Miss Ilmarë could use the advice of other women as to clothes and such. Said she’d been living with Círdan and keeping company with him and his mariners…” Adanel smiled to hear Haleth say the word as though it were a foul name. “Master Ereinion also said her folk who brought her from Númenor were mariners as well. Poor child needs a woman to teach her about keeping herself up. She clearly doesn’t know how to fix that mass of hair and clearly has no decency about wearing proper undergarments…” 

Adanel gave her a wary look. “Oh Mother, you don’t plan to…” 

Haleth did not take her eyes from the pot she washed as she interrupted her daughter. “It has to be done, Adanel, no two ways about it.” 

“Well, I think you’re exaggerating, as you’re prone to do.” Adanel knew it would do no good to argue with her mother. She picked up her dishrag and began to wash again. “It’s not as though she’s some wild woman that needs taming. I’ve never seen a woman of Númenor before. Miss Ilmarë strikes me as quite beautiful, but she also seems quite nice.” 

Haleth nodded in agreement. “That she is, child…that she is. But we’ll have to help her get beyond that shy nature of hers. She’s quiet as a mouse, that girl…I can’t get a word out of her.” 

~*~

 

Ilmarë walked beside Ereinion in silent thought, her eyes fixed on the marble floor of the hall. Thinking of seeing Elrond was beginning to make her more nervous than excited. Doubt had begun a stealthy campaign, whispering in her ear that perhaps Elrond’s absence was for a reason. Avoidance could be that reason. There are times when things bathed in moonlight stir the heart and the soul, yet when the rational light of morning melts the silver spell those same things appear ill conceived and regrettable. The thought of that possibility was more upsetting than Ilmarë cared to acknowledge. Not even Haleth’s talk of Elrond’s unusually cheerful disposition did much to ease her worry. When they had nearly walked the length of the hall, Ereinion cleared his throat. 

“I hope my earlier words to you were not in vain, Ilmarë. You have no need to mislead me in any matter. Having reminded you of that, is there something you would like to share with me about last night? Your mood is changed now, and if you would tell me what troubles you perhaps I could help.” 

“Thank you, Ereinion, but there is nothing to share.” She raised her head in time to see his skeptical look and gave his arm beneath her hand a squeeze. “I am not trying to mislead you…it is only that I do not wish to discuss it at the moment.” They had reached another set of heavy, carved doors located not too far from the stairwell.

“Later, then. We have all day.” Ereinion reached for the door handle, but the door swung open before he could grasp it. 

Elrond had been standing in the study, near the doors leading outside. The tower guards had begun arriving for their morning’s duties, and the path they used passed just beyond the glass-paned doors. Elrond watched the Elves walk by on their way to the tower, his arms crossed and nodding to those who waved to him in greeting.

He heard the approaching footsteps in the hall and hurried across the room, filling his chest with a deep breath before opening the door. Ereinion gave his usual good morning greeting, which Elrond returned before resting his eyes on Ilmarë. 

There was something about the blue of her dress, in Elrond’s opinion, that brought out the beauty in all her features – the golden shade of her skin, the dark grey of her eyes, the black mass of hair that fell down her shoulders and arms. Or perhaps it was something else that colored his vision: the memory of Ilmarë sleeping in his arms and her soft hair beneath his fingers as he moved it away from her face. Elrond was unsure exactly how long he had watched her that morning before finally climbing out of bed, taking care not to wake her. His sense of contentment stayed with him as he cleaned up and dressed, and came downstairs.

Had he stopped to think about it, Elrond might have been struck by the novelty of that feeling for him. Moments of contentment had been scarce in his life since his brother’s departure. But he had not thought of that; instead, he had spent the morning marking each moment until he saw her again. Little else had entered his mind. 

Here she was at last and Elrond wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and kiss away the nervous worry on her face. But it was not possible with Ereinion there. Even now Ereinion watched him closely, as though waiting for something…. It suddenly occurred to Elrond that he was blocking their entrance into the study. He moved aside with a quick apology and then closed the door behind them.

“Good morning, Ilmarë.” He stood close to her and his deep voice sent a tremor down her back that collected in the base of her spine then sent its tendrils out into her stomach. The almost unnoticeable reaction did not escape Elrond’s attention and could not help but add, “I trust you slept well?”

A warm sensation crept along her neck. Ilmarë did not know the cause, but it quickly spread to her face. When she put her hand against her cheek she found the skin to be warm to the touch. She offered Elrond a small smile and nodded, then looked at the floor hoping to hide her confusion. Ereinion wore no smile; his expression had grown darker as Elrond’s had grown more amused. Now Ereinion frowned as he studied Elrond closely. 

“You seem to be in unusually good spirits this morning, Elrond. I take it that the remainder of your evening was pleasant after you left us in the study?” 

Ereinion’s frown escaped Elrond’s normally vigilant attention for it was focused on Ilmarë and on trying to find some excuse for the two of them to leave the room. 

“Yes, it was, Ereinion…highly pleasant, in fact. Thank you for asking.” 

Elrond’s excuse presented itself in the form of a loud knock on one of the outer doors, although it was Ereinion who would leave and not the two of them. Following the knock, one of the doors opened and a uniformed guard stepped in. He saw Ereinion and bowed politely. 

“Good morning, my lord,” the guard said. “The Captain-General apologizes for the imposition, but he has received a message from East and asks if you would be kind enough to come speak with him in the tower.” 

Ereinion looked at Ilmarë and Elrond. He was not pleased with leaving them alone but there was nothing to be done about it. He sighed and pulled his arm from Ilmarë’s grasp. 

“You will have to excuse me, Ilmarë. Ruselion is the commander of my armies and he does not like to leave the tower once his watch has begun. I will not be long. I am certain Elrond will have no objections to keeping you company in the mean time.” With a final look for each of them, Ereinion signaled the guard to follow him outside. 

Once they were alone, Ilmarë was at a loss for words. She glanced at Elrond then let her eyes wander around the room. As before, she found it was very hard to keep the worry that occupied her mind from showing on her face. 

“Ilmarë, is something wrong?” Elrond sounded concerned but Ilmarë still could not bring herself to look at him. 

“No…at least I hope there is not.” Unable to wait any longer to know, she blurted, “You left this morning without waking me. I feared you did not wish to see me…that upon awakening you came to regret what happened between us last night.” 

“From the look on your face just now, I feared it was you who had doubts.” He closed the distance between them and waited for Ilmarë to lift her eyes. “I did have regrets this morning, but only because I wished to let you sleep and had to leave you.”

Ilmarë held her breath as he raised his hand and eased it beneath her hair to rest it gently on her neck. He pulled her closer and lowered his head, but Elrond hesitated. It occurred to him that someone could come into the room or walk by outside and there was not much privacy to be had. But Ilmarë had no such reservations; she leaned forward to meet his mouth before he could pull away. Feeling the warmth of his lips on hers, Ilmarë’s arms went around his neck and a groan of both relief and satisfaction rushed out of her.

Elrond’s concerns of being caught were forgotten, erased from his mind by Ilmarë’s impatient claim on his mouth. He returned the kiss with greater fervor than he intended, yet to touch her again made the mere hours he had been without her seem an unbearable length of time. She opened her mouth to his seeking tongue, and Elrond felt Ilmarë move her hands to his shoulders. 

She was curious as to what was beneath Elrond’s clothing – the look and the feel of his body. He had been allowed to see and touch her in a state of undress but she had been too overwhelmed to think about doing the same. Ilmarë began to run her hands over his shoulders, lightly caressing the material of his shirt. Elrond reacted favorably, tightening his hand on her neck and delving his tongue deeper into her mouth, and she let her hands roam, hesitantly at first but with ever-increasing forwardness, tracing the solid lines of his chest and arms. Elrond allowed himself to enjoy her touch until his indulgence of the moment became an endurance of his will. Reluctantly, he ended the kiss and gathered Ilmarë in his arms to hold her tight against him. 

“I regretted not being able to do that this morning,” Elrond said close to her ear as he rubbed his cheek against hers, “and I regretted leaving your bed, but I regret nothing else.” 

“I am sorry, Elrond, I should have had more trust in you. I had no reason to doubt your word. It is strange - although I have not even known you a full day, I find myself at ease with you, as though I had known you for much longer.” Ilmarë remembered Haleth’s words and frowned. “Haleth said something this morning and I found it curious.” 

A short laugh escaped Elrond and he said, “Curious is an apt way of describing almost everything Haleth says.” 

“I am quite serious, Elrond. She spoke of you, yet what she said made no sense to me.” 

Elrond sighed and loosened his hold on Ilmarë enough that he could lean back to look at her. It took little deduction on his part to guess what Haleth had said, and this meant discussing things he was not certain yet if he wished to discuss. But there seemed to be little alternative at the moment. 

“What was it that she told you, Ilmarë?” 

“Well, first she spoke of meeting you in the hall this morning and your cheerful mood. I could not understand her surprise finding you happy and smiling, for you have smiled frequently in the short time I have known you.” 

Ilmarë paused to run her hand along his cheek before continuing. “Then she spoke of you as being quiet and reserved, and even sad. I had come to the conclusion that Haleth simply did not know you well until I saw that Ereinion did not seem unduly concerned by what she was saying. After this I began to weigh the possibility that perhaps it was I who did not know you well and my worries began. Is there any truth to what she says?” 

Elrond looked toward the windows and continued to look away as he spoke. “How I wish I were bound to a promise like yours, Ilmarë. That I could tell you nothing of my past, or myself, and your knowledge of me would begin with the moment we met. But I am not given that advantage.” He looked into Ilmarë’s eyes and gave her a wan smile. 

“What Haleth says is true. It is most likely the description that would be given of me by any whom you chose to ask. Even Ereinion, and I am closer to him than I am to any other in my life. It has been this way since… well, for a very long time.” 

Elrond struggled to find a way to explain himself and Ilmarë could see how difficult it was for him. She wanted to tell him he did not have to continue but some selfish part of her also wanted to know the truth. That selfishness shifted to remorse when she saw the pain in his eyes. 

“There is a loneliness within me…a feeling of isolation I have been allowed no escape from…not until you turned your eyes toward me there by the water. You were as the sun, pushing away the shroud of night and revealing to me that which had been kept in twilight.”

Elrond shook his head as he looked away. “I lack the eloquence Ereinion has to speak of such things – my words sound foolish and contrived.” 

“No, Elrond…” It took a great deal of effort for Ilmarë to force the words from her tightening throat.

“Your words are beautiful, made all the more beautiful for me because you speak them. I cannot imagine what things you would lacking to speak of.” 

“Things such as what I feel for you.” He turned back to Ilmarë and what he saw on her face gave him impetus to confess. “Things such as…love.” He shifted uncomfortably at the admission. “I did not speak of love to you last night because I do not know how. What I feel for you is something I am not prepared for and I find it very unsettling.” 

“I understand, Elrond. You do not need to speak of it further.” Ilmarë ran her hand across his cheek again. “I know nothing of these feelings, but I know their pull on my heart is strong. I am content just to be near you, to enjoy your touch and your presence for now. We can wait to speak of these things until you are ready. Yet even as you made a promise to me, there is one I will make to you now: you will not know loneliness again, Elrond, I will not allow it.”

Elrond had no words for her, instead he wrapped her in a tight embrace, her head resting against his chest and his against her hair. It was in this way that Ereinion found them upon his return. He stood on the stone path and watched them through the window, his eyes moving from Elrond’s face to Ilmarë’s, both of them with their eyes closed and resting contentedly against the other. 

Ereinion walked away from the mansion. His walk did not take him far, only to a low stone wall that bordered the yard; beyond it, the land fell away into cliffs. The harbor was visible below and dockworkers and mariners could be seen preparing for the day ahead. Though Ereinion stared in their direction, he was oblivious to the distant figures going about their daily chores. A stray gulf wind trailed the scent of water and morning mist across his face and he closed his eyes as he caught it and breathed it in deeply. It rid his mind of some of the pain and disappointment that filled it, enough that Ereinion realized there was really no decision to be made. It had already been decided. Lines of regret marred his brow and as he accepted what must be done his head bowed with the weight of his resignation. 

He returned to the house and this time Ereinion did not pause to look in first. He cleared his throat as he opened the door. When he looked up, Elrond and Ilmarë had moved away from each other but still stood close. 

With a stiff smile, Ereinion said, “I am afraid I must forgo my plans with you today, Ilmarë. Something unexpected has come up and it would be better if Elrond accompanied you instead.” He turned to Elrond. “I had intended to show Ilmarë the house and grounds, and then take her around the city. Would you mind?” 

Elrond studied Ereinion’s face, trying to assess the change in his friend’s mood. Though Ereinion was doing his best to hide it, Elrond knew something troubled him. 

“I do not mind, Ereinion. If you wish, I can stay and help you with what needs to be done. Then you could accompany us as well.” 

“No, Elrond, I can do this alone. It is best if you go and I stay.” _Let us leave it at that, my friend_ was the silent message he sent. 

Elrond held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. “If that is what you wish.” 

“Ereinion, I can wait to be shown the city and the grounds. I would prefer to stay. I do not want to leave you here alone.” Ilmarë did not understand what had brought on this sudden somber mood, but the feeling that she had somehow done something wrong gnawed at her. 

“For you to remain indoors with me would be a waste of a beautiful day and a beautiful woman. Go and enjoy yourselves. I will be here when you return.” He smiled at her, but was all too aware that he was unable to appear as cheerful as he sounded. Ereinion turned his back to Elrond and Ilmarë and walked across the room toward his desk. “But do not forget that Haleth will be waiting in your room to help you dress for dinner. Elrond will see to it that you return on time.” 

“Come, Ilmarë…the morning is still cool and you will need a cloak,” Elrond said, placing his hand on Ilmarë’s back. “We should be on our way. Good day, Ereinion.” 

Ilmarë allowed Elrond to lead her from the room, and she waved at Ereinion before walking through the door. Ereinion sat down and gave them a distracted wave in return, directing his attention to the papers on his desk. When the door had closed and he was alone, Ereinion flung the papers back onto the desk and turned in his chair to stare absently out the window. 

_I have no one to blame but myself. It is fortunate that I am more capable of ruling a kingdom than I am at handling my personal affairs. I should have paid heed to my instincts and gone to Harlond instead of sending Elrond._ The corners of his mouth turned up in what could have been considered a smile were it not for the regret that filled his eyes. _And I should have allowed Haleth to walk into the study last night and find Ilmarë in my arms._

Ereinion picked the papers up from his desk again and did his best to focus on the words, trying to rid himself of the memory of holding Ilmarë in his arms and the sight of Elrond holding her in his. 

 

~*~


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

 

“And this goes where?” 

Ilmarë held the garment out in front of her for a better look. She had seen it before, during those first days on the ship. It had been in the trunk sent with her from Valinor, among the undergarments Linquendil had unable to explain. 

Elrond and Ilmarë’s day together had passed all too quickly and he returned Ilmarë to her room when the afternoon grew late. There she found Haleth and Adanel laying out her clothes. Haleth had made her change into her dressing robe and then thrust the unfamiliar garment at her that she now held in her hands.

“It’s a corset, Miss Ilmarë. You wear it under your clothing, to compress your…” Adanel gestured toward her own chest with both hands, “…well, your chest. Or certain parts of it.” 

Seeing Adanel’s hand movements, Ilmarë’s frown disappeared and she nodded in understanding. “I see…you mean my breasts.” 

Adanel raised her eyebrows at Ilmarë’s frankness and then laughed. Haleth clucked her tongue and shook her head, and Adanel waved off her mother’s disapproval. Ilmarë had pulled the front of her robe away from her body and her frown returned as she examined her chest inside the robe. 

“Yes, they are larger than I would have liked and I find them annoying at times. Do you mean to say this corset will keep them bound?”

“I would say that it will smash them and then squeeze them…” Adanel demonstrated her words by holding her hands up and crushing them into fists. 

“That’s enough out of you,” Haleth interrupted her daughter’s animated explanation and held out a thin skirt. “Take your robe off and step into this.”

Ilmarë did as she was told and Haleth quickly fastened the waist of it. She took the corset from Ilmarë’s hands and then wrapped it around her chest. As Haleth began to lace the back up, Ilmarë looked down at the clothing and then at Adanel. 

“These undergarments are heavier than I thought they would be. It will be like wearing two dresses, one under the other.” The corset grew tighter and Ilmarë reached into it to move her breasts to a more comfortable position. She looked down and exclaimed in disappointment. “This corset is compressing my breasts, but only to push them up. Now they are even more noticeable than before.” 

Adanel picked up the dress from the bed and brought it to Ilmarë and Haleth. “That’s the purpose of it, Miss Ilmarë. Another one of the many things we women do to please men. My husband tells me men appreciate breasts far more than their owners do. I’ve no doubt Master Ereinion will appreciate your wearing a corset.”

“Men find breasts appealing?” This made no sense at first but Ilmarë thought about it as she tried to ignore that her body being jerked from side to side by Haleth’s energetic lacing efforts. She remembered that Elrond had shown interest in her breasts the night before and Ilmarë smiled to think of how delightful the results were. But to think that Ereinion would look at her in that fashion made her laugh. 

“I am sorry, Adanel, but I doubt Ereinion will even notice. He is my friend and does not see me that way. The compliments he pays me are no different than the ones he gives you or Haleth, no doubt due to the silver tongue Haleth accuses him of having. It is nothing to do with me in particular.” 

Adanel looked at her with disbelief. “Begging your pardon, Miss Ilmarë, but you don’t know much about the dealings between men and women, do you? I truly hope I don’t seem rude in asking. It’s just…well, I thought someone of your age would know more. If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?” 

“Much older than I appear to be,” Ilmarë answered with a smile, “but there are times when age has nothing to do with experience, and this would be one of them. You are correct – I know very little about things of this nature. I am happy to have made your acquaintance, Adanel. You can help me with this, for desire and attraction are things that were not discussed among my kin.” 

“And there’s a reason for that,” Haleth said, having finished her lacing and now began pulling the laces tight, “those aren’t subjects to be discussed except in the most basic of terms and only when necessary. I don’t know where my daughter came by the habit of speaking her mind about it…”

“Ouch!” Ilmarë shouted and tried to twist and look behind her to see what Haleth was doing that was so painful. Something was digging into her sides and Ilmarë ran her hands over the corset. “There is something hard inside the fabric, Haleth, and the tighter you pull the more they force their way into my skin. What is inside this corset?” 

“It’s bones, Miss Ilmarë. They keep the sides stiff and straight.” Haleth paused only long enough to answer the question and then began her tugging again. 

“Bones?” Another jerk made Ilmarë grit her teeth and exclaim, “Oh, Haleth, that hurts!” She remembered Círdan’s explanation of the hard structure beneath her skin and would have exhaled in relief if she had been able. “The bones I have serve their function well and I do not require any more. So you see, you can remove the corset. It is not needed.”

“Oh but it is needed, Miss Ilmarë. You must dress like a proper lady now that you’ll be keeping company with the King and his folk.” Haleth’s tongue peeked out of the side of her mouth as she tried to hold the laces tight enough to tie them.

“Neither you nor Adanel wear a corset, Haleth. Your breasts, in particular, are far more ample than mine.”

Haleth gave her another dour look. “Neither Adanel nor I are ladies, Miss Ilmarë - we’re servants. Ladies must be properly dressed at all times. But, even so, we wear corsets from time to time, when the occasion requires. There, now you’re all finished.”

Haleth stepped back to admire her handiwork but Ilmarë was less than appreciative of the results. She gasped and pointed toward her chest. 

“Surely you do not expect me to go downstairs like this? My breasts look like a glass of water about to spill over. I was told that it was proper to keep my body covered in public, not leave parts of it out on display.” 

Haleth took the dress from Adanel and helped Ilmarë into it, then moved behind her to fasten it. “Now look, Miss Ilmarë - your dress covers everything up, nice and proper. There’s just a hint of it showing and that’s all men need to see. Although there’s those women who’ll wear dresses cut so low that I’m surprised their water doesn’t spill out of their glass, if you catch my meaning.” She looked up at Ilmarë and shook her head. “You seem a good deal taller, holding yourself straight like that. You’ll have to come sit in the chair.” 

Ilmarë shifted uncomfortably as she walked to the dressing table. “I cannot help but to hold myself straight with these planks strapped to my sides. It seems to be the only way to keep them from digging into my flesh.” 

“You’ll get used to it, dear. Just you wait. Let’s see if we can’t do something with your hair.” Haleth waited for Ilmarë to sit in the chair and then began briskly running a brush through her hair. 

“Ouch!” Ilmarë exclaimed again. “I was not aware that preparing for dinner was so unpleasant. Could you brush my hair instead, Adanel?” 

Adanel was bringing Ilmarë’s shoes from the wardrobe; when she reached the dressing table she gave Ilmarë a sympathetic look. 

“I’ve been under my mother’s brush enough times to know that it’s best just to abide it and be done as quickly as possible. But I will help style your hair and see if we can’t end your misery a little sooner.” 

Haleth paused in mid-stroke to wave the brush at Adanel. “You’d best hush or you’ll be under my brush again. And I don’t mean your hair either. Impertinent children need a good swat now and again, no matter their age.”

Adanel laughed at her mother’s empty threat and began helping with the task of untangling the glossy black hair. Ilmarë closed her eyes and let her head fall forward while the two women attended to her hair. She had been weary all day and still felt as though her body needed sleep. The fatigue only seemed to be made worse by the throbbing in her head. 

_It is pain, the same as I felt in my finger when the sword cut the skin._ There was pain in her chest, as well. It had begun earlier in the day when walking through the city with Elrond. Her body obviously was not pleased with the trip and voiced its complaints in the form of being slow and leaden. Ilmarë felt as though she had to drag it every step and could not catch her breath. Elrond had noticed her difficulty and ended their walk. Her fatigue worried him and he decided they would finish their tour of the city another time, taking her back to the coach and instructing the driver to take them for a ride in the countryside instead. 

Ilmarë had not complained; she was not only glad of being allowed to take a rest, but also of the privacy they were given in the closed coach. There, she had been given some respite from the grievances of her body. She had grown impatient with its demanding nature – always there was something this weak form wanted or needed, and when denied, its protests were taxing and bothersome. During the coach ride her body had been satiated for a time by the unhurried and gentle display of what pleasures were to be found in Elrond’s touch. But now that the comfort of his presence had been removed her Mortal form had become a burden once again, resuming its lethargic decline back to never-ceasing laments. 

The tugging and pulling of the brush on her hair ceased and Ilmarë felt Haleth and Adanel begin their next task, moving their fingers through her hair and across her scalp as they worked. Relaxed tingles spread through her aching body and with her body distracted again, Ilmarë’s mind began to drift. She heard someone calling her name and her head jerked up but her eyes were not as equally cooperative; they were heavy and burned when they opened. She blinked a few times and made note of how overly warm the room had become. 

“What do you think, Miss Ilmarë?” Ilmarë looked up and saw Adanel waiting expectantly, obviously having repeated her words. “Do you like your hair this way?” Seeing the look on Ilmarë’s face, Adanel frowned. “Are you feeling poorly? Mother, check her skin and see if it’s warm.” 

“No…no,” Ilmarë said, waving Haleth’s hand away, “I am just overly tired today. Too many goings on in too short a time, I would imagine.” 

Ilmarë looked into the mirror that hung on the wall above the dressing table and was amazed that Haleth and Adanel had managed to make the thick mass of hair look so refined. They had pulled the hair away from her face with braids on each side of her head, all woven with silver ribbons to match her dress. In the back, her hair was pulled up into a loose bun held by a large jeweled clip. Ilmarë smiled and moved her head around to look at it from all directions. 

The freedom of the airy form in her memories and dreams was still something she longed for, but now there were times when Ilmarë could see some beauty in this mortal form, limited though it was. Yet, she had not known there were so many ways it could be improved upon. Now she realized she would have to work within the boundaries of this poor substitute for her true form, reminding herself that Elves and Mortals seemed to share equally low standards of beauty. If she learned to make this body more appealing, then perhaps it would spur Elrond to make his decision all the sooner. 

Despite her newfound enthusiasm for her body, Ilmarë watched Adanel hesitantly as she took a jar from the table and dipped her finger into it. Ilmarë recoiled as Adanel moved closer with the obvious intention of putting the substance on her lips. 

“It’s only salve with berry juice mixed with it, Miss Ilmarë, to add a little color to your lips.” 

Ilmarë obliged and held still while Adanel applied the salve, which was surprisingly fragrant and smooth. Adanel smiled and nodded. “That looks nice. We’ll put on a little perfume, you’ll be ready to go downstairs.” She retrieved a bottle from the dressing table and handed it to Ilmarë. 

Ilmarë took it and looked at Adanel. “Where did this come from? I do not have any perfume.” 

“I found it tucked away among the clothes I unpacked – the ones from large trunk we left at the foot of your bed.” 

The trunk sent with her from Valinor…Ilmarë ran her fingers over the surface of the glass bottle. Small red flowers floated inside, suspended in the clear liquid. Her dream of Eressëa came back to her and she smiled wistfully. Tears stung her eyes to think of the caring friend who had placed such a thoughtful reminder among her things. 

“Melian…” Ilmarë whispered and held her breath, waiting for the tears to recede. 

“Is that the name of the flower, Miss Ilmarë?” Haleth asked, peering over her shoulder. “I can’t say that I’ve ever seen it before.” 

“No, Haleth, its name is lissuin, and it is little wonder you have not seen it before; the flower grows only on Númenor and Tol Eressëa. It is also known as hearts ease for its scent lightens a troubled heart. My dearest friend loves lissuin and always scents herself with its oil. It was she who packed it among my things.” 

Seeing the disbelieving glance exchanged by Haleth and Adanel, Ilmarë broke the wax seal around the stopper and placed some of the perfume on their wrists. A breeze of fragrance drifted along the air and filled their senses – it smelled of freshness and flowers, of mists and memory… 

A thought came to Adanel from seemingly nowhere, of a hill near the foot of the Blue Mountains that she frequented each Spring, where butterflies danced and flowers swayed a greeting to her. For Adanel the lissuin smelled of green grass, blue skies and gentle breezes. 

A fire crackling in the hearth of the kitchen was the memory that settled upon Haleth; and the sound of it was accompanied by the creak of an oven door opening and closing. For Haleth the lissuin smelled of biscuits and tea freshly made each evening by her mother before they sat close together and spoke of the day past. 

Ilmarë smiled to see the contentment on their faces, but was herself quite unprepared for memories to stretch their embrace from the recesses of her mind. The scent to her was the rich smell of earth and rain mingled with the evergreen smell of yew and cedar – the trees that bordered the gardens of Lórien. She heard the golden sound of Eönwë’s laugh, felt the quiet reassurance of Melian’s hand in hers, and was warmed by the silver glow of Thingol’s smile. A greater presence slowly enveloped the others, wrapping Ilmarë securely in the strength and wisdom it emanated. 

An image appeared in her mind, growing gradually brighter like the dawning sun. In a cavernous room of blue and white marble was a wide, doorless opening. Before it was a great throne and upon that great throne sat a great man in robes of sapphire blue. Stars had been carved into the high back of the throne and they cast a soft light, illuminating his bent head crowned with hair darker than the vast moonless night beyond the open doorway. Slowly, he lifted his head toward the opening in the marble wall. The light danced along the river of hair flowing down his back, and he stared off into the distance with eyes grey as a rising storm…

“I never heard of anything like this in all my born days.” 

Haleth’s wondering voice disrupted Ilmarë’s thoughts. Ilmarë had not recognized the man in her image, but felt she knew him all the same. 

She had remembered the lissuin was said to bring ease and comfort, but she had not remembered how it accomplished that feat. Ilmarë opened her eyes and looked again at the red flowers floating in the bottle she held. Her body had been soothed of its aches and throbbing head for the time being, and even the horribly uncomfortable corset now seemed tolerable. Her heart lifted further to hear the knock on her bedroom door. 

“That’ll be Master Elrond. He’s always right on time. Put your shoes on, Miss Ilmarë, and I’ll go tell him you’ll be right out.” 

Haleth had assumed her no-nonsense manner again and waggled her hands at Ilmarë to hurry before she bustled to the door. Ilmarë sat the bottle on the dressing table, bent to slip on her shoes, and stood. She was about to follow Haleth to the door when Adanel caught her attention, silently motioning for Ilmarë to follow. Haleth opened the door as Ilmarë followed Adanel to the wardrobe on the far wall. Adanel opened the wardrobe and reached up to pull a folded piece of clothing from one of the shelves. 

“Wear the corset to dinner, then hide it away later tonight before you go to bed,” she whispered and patted the garment in her hand. “Mother calls this a chemise, but most women just call it a slip. You’ll be fine wearing this beneath your clothes from day to day. There’s more here in your wardrobe, both long and short, whichever you need.” She gave Ilmarë a conspiratorial wink and replaced the slip on the shelf. 

Ilmarë sighed in relief. With a look of gratitude, she nodded thanks to Adanel and they went to the bedroom door where Haleth waited. 

“Master Elrond is in the sitting room waiting for you. We’ll see you downstairs.” Haleth winked and patted Ilmarë’s cheek. “You look beautiful, Miss Ilmarë.” She frowned and pressed her hand closer to the skin. “Oh my…you’re very warm, dear. I think we should have Master Elrond take a look at you.”

Ilmarë smiled and covered the hand on her cheek for a moment before pulling it away. “But Haleth, he will see me…as soon as I am allowed to go into the next room. As far as my appearance, I believe it is solely due to the effort you and Adanel put forth, and it was very kind of you to do this for me.”

Haleth gave Ilmarë a pleased look before opening the door and though she was still worried, she relented and shooed Ilmarë out. 

Across the sitting room, Elrond sat in a chair but rose quickly when he saw Ilmarë. Had she not already been light-headed, the sight of him would have been enough to make her so. She was disappointed that he was dressed formally again in a flowing blue robe, but was somewhat mollified to see the front of the robe was open. Ilmarë’s eyes traveled over Elrond’s body, clad in a black shirt and trousers, and briefly pondered why the sight of his body had suddenly become so important to her. She hurried to meet him and took his outstretched hand. He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, and then used it to pull her closer. 

“I was beginning to grow impatient for want of seeing you again, but the wait seems of little consequence now. You look lovely.”

“As do you, Elrond.” His crooked smile appeared when she spoke and made Ilmarë smile as well. 

“Men are not lovely, Ilmarë, not even Elven men. We are dashing or handsome, or even attractive, but never lovely.” 

“Certainly you are all of those things, but may I not find you lovely, as well?” 

He sighed and said, “I can find no reasonable argument while your beauty distracts me. You may call me lovely if you wish.” Elrond glanced at the bedroom door, which Haleth was just closing, and then winked at Ilmarë. “But not within earshot of others, please.” 

Ilmarë laughed at his secretive tone and Elrond lowered his head to kiss her, unable to resist the temptation any longer. He ran a hand along her cheek as he kissed her, and pulled back to study her with a frown. 

“Your skin feels warm, Ilmarë,” he touched her cheek with his fingers, “and your face is flushed. I thought you were merely tired this afternoon, but clearly this is something more than just fatigue. Do you feel ill?” 

Ilmarë did not feel the terrible clenching of her stomach that she associated with illness, so she shook her head. “No, I do not feel ill. There is pain in my head and I am weary, but no doubt that has something to do with Haleth’s handling of me the past few hours. I believe that now I know what the parcels on ships feel like after they have been manhandled from the decks to the docks.” 

“We should not go downstairs, Ilmarë. It would be better if you stayed here and rested. Haleth can bring something up for you to eat, and I will stay and tend to you.” 

“Please, Elrond, I would like to go downstairs for dinner. Afterward I will go straight to bed and you may tend to me as much as you like. But I would rest much easier if you were to stay with me again tonight.” 

He studied Ilmarë as she waited for his response. Elrond realized he would be hard pressed to deny her anything, and dearly hoped that Ilmarë had not come to that realization as well. He smiled to think of how difficult it could become for him if Ilmarë knew she wielded this type of power. Men had to at least keep up the pretense of indecision, lest they be defenseless against feminine wiles.

“We shall see. Before we go to dinner, we must stop at my rooms. I will make you a tea to ease your fever before it grows worse.”

“We should go downstairs first, Elrond, please. I am certain Ereinion is waiting for us, and I will be fine until after dinner.” 

He hesitated, but nodded. “All right then. It goes against my better judgment, but if you do not feel ill, then I suppose it will not hurt to wait a short time. But we cannot stay long.” 

They left the sitting room and went downstairs, walking slowly down the long hall that led to the dining room. The walk downstairs had tired Ilmarë even further and her chest began to hurt again. Trying to put the discomfort from her mind, she looked at Elrond. 

“What am I to tell Ereinion if he asks what I thought of the city?” 

“Why would you not tell him of what you saw in Mithlond today?” 

“Because I did not see much of Mithlond at all. I spent most of the day with my eyes on you, or in the coach with my eyes closed while you kissed me. Now that I think on it, I would say they were closed much more than they were open.” 

“Then we can only hope Ereinion does not ask too many questions.”

Elrond wanted to take Ilmarë in his arms and kiss her thoroughly as he had done several times that day, but he could not. They had reached the dining room door and he knew Ereinion waited inside. He settled for a quick kiss instead, and opened the door. 

Inside the dining room, Ereinion’s laughter filled the air. He sat at the table with a glass of wine in his hand, amused by something his companion said. At the sight of the silver-haired Elf rising from his chair, Ilmarë released Elrond’s arm and rushed toward the table. Círdan came around the table and opened his arms to meet her with a warm embrace. 

“Ilmarë, surely you could not have missed me as much as that after only one day,” he said. 

“But I did miss you. I did not know you would be here this evening. Why did you come?” 

“To see you, of course. I wanted to see if you were settled into your new home.” 

Elrond thought of what Ilmarë had told him about Círdan, and he frowned as he watched them. 

Ereinion saw the bothered look and was ashamed to admit that for a brief moment he found some enjoyment in it. Guilt urged Ereinion to put his friend’s mind at ease and so he walked to Elrond and rested a hand on his shoulder. 

“Círdan is neglecting to mention that he is in Mithlond to pay a visit to a very close friend who happens to live here in the city. But she is not expecting him until later this evening, and so he accepted my invitation to dinner.” 

Elrond was relieved to hear this, and relieved to see Ilmarë step back and gasp in exaggeration.

“Shame on you, Círdan, trying to deceive me into believing that you came here out of worry for me.” Ilmarë shook her head at him and smiled, having known full well why Círdan visited Mithlond.

“But I did come to see how you were, Ilmarë.” Círdan said with a rakish smile, “although I did not say it was the only reason I came to Mithlond.” He spread his hands out in a pleading gesture. “My house is very empty now that you are gone. I could not bring myself to spend another unpleasant and boring evening there alone.” 

Ilmarë gave a drawn-out sigh. “I would not have you condemned to so cruel a fate, and so I will overlook your duplicity.” She smiled and shook her head. “Would this be the same woman who has garnered so much of your attention in recent weeks?”

“Of course it is,” Círdan said with mock indignation. “What do you take me for?” 

Elrond relaxed to see the obvious friendship between the two and went to Ilmarë’s side. Círdan turned his smile to Elrond now. 

”Good evening, Elrond. I see you are still escorting our fair visitor from the west. And Ereinion tells me that you have offered to accompany Ilmarë to Ost-In-Edhil come Spring. She is fortunate to have such a dedicated guide.” Círdan looked Ilmarë up and down, and nodded in appreciation. “I would say that you have made the most of the feminine influences to be found here. You look very lady-like. Why, you are even wearing jewelry.” 

Círdan looked at the necklace she wore and then held out her hand to show him the opal ring on her finger. “There were similar items packed away in my things. I would like to speak to you about them after dinner, if you have time.” 

Círdan grew serious and nodded. “If you need to speak with me, I will have time. I also wish to discuss your plans for this trip to Eregion.” 

“We should take our seats now,” Ereinion told them, “dinner will be served soon.” 

Elrond pulled out a chair for Ilmarë before taking his seat next to her. When she sat, Ilmarë’s head began to throb again with greater intensity than before. The pain grew worse and she tried to sit as still as possible, staring at the table while she listened to Elrond, Ereinion and Círdan talk. Then again, it was not so much listening as it was just being aware of their voices; she could not have said what it was they spoke of. 

Ilmarë shifted in her chair and could feel moisture collecting on her forehead and neck. Over the course of just a few seconds, the air in the room had become hot and stifling, and she slowly became aware of how difficult it was to breathe. Her chest had grown heavy and now required force to move the air in and out. Sitting in the chair made the hard edges of the corset dig into her skin with every movement she made. The only time it did not hurt was when she held herself perfectly straight and still, but Ilmarë found she could not do this for long because it was impossible for her to take a full breath in that position. 

Ilmarë sluggishly noticed that the first course of dinner was being served, and a bowl of soup had been placed in front of her. The steam from the bowl wafted up to her face and the heat made her dizzy. 

“Ilmarë? I think we should go back upstairs now.” Elrond leaned close and examined her face as he spoke. 

Ilmarë placed both hands over her sides. “Perhaps we should. I do not believe I could eat with this horrible corset binding me so tightly. I can barely breathe, let alone swallow food.”

Across the table, Círdan shook his head in consternation. “A corset, Ilmarë? I fail to see why you would choose to wear one. All the women I have known say corsets are uncomfortable and unnecessary. Had I known wearing one would be among the things taught to you, I would have instructed you on women’s undergarments myself. Clearly I have more knowledge of them than the females who reside here.”

Círdan noticed Elrond’s stern look and remembered too late that Elrond was the only person at the table unaware of Ilmarë’s inexperience with her Mortal form. Over the years he had become accustomed to speaking freely in Elrond and Ereinion’s presence. 

Ilmarë found that the pain in her head, in her chest and now her sides made her unable to concentrate on anything but the discomfort and she did not hesitate to answer Círdan’s question. 

“I did not choose to wear it – I was coerced into wearing it. I was told that not only was it necessary for ladies to dress properly, but also that it would give men a greater appreciation of my breasts. Is the admiration of breasts truly so important to a man’s sense of well being that women will suffer such unpleasantness?” 

The men at the table were fortunate enough to avoid answering that question, although their reprieve was not a pleasant one. Ilmarë straightened to attempt a deep breath and her throat squeezed shut. She attempted another breath but her body refused to accept air. It repeatedly forced the air out through her mouth, over and over, so violently that her throat ached and body shook. A wet, rattling noise came from deep inside her chest. Ilmarë’s head swam, so much so that she was not even aware of her body going limp as it surrendered to the lack of breath. 

Círdan saw Ilmarë slump in her chair and called out her name, moving quickly around the table toward her. Elrond saw the movement from the corner of his eye but he was not swift enough to stop her sudden descent. His hands met only empty air when he reached for her. Only Ereinion was close enough to reach Ilmarë. He shoved his chair from the table and caught her before she hit the floor. Círdan helped ease Ilmarë to the floor and Ereinion carefully cradled her head in his lap. 

The hair he pushed away from her face was damp and clung to her forehead. Ereinion touched her skin and frowned at Elrond as he knelt next to Ilmarë. 

“She is burning with fever and I can hear the breath rattle in her chest from here. Why was I not told that she was ill?”

“I am to blame. I should have seen to her before we came downstairs, but she did not wish to make you wait.” Elrond’s eyebrows knitted together and he placed his hand over her chest, checking the pace of her heart. His jaw clenched when he felt its rapid beat. “Her fever has risen too quickly, it did not rage so high when we left her room. The rattle you hear is fluid collecting in her chest and it tells me Ilmarë was more ill than she let on. Why did she not tell me when I asked?” He ran his hand across her cheek and told Ereinion and Círdan, “We have to take her upstairs immediately…”

Their voices were muffled and distant, but Ilmarë felt Elrond’s touch plainly enough. The weight on her seemed to bear down harder and her chest began to heave with the effort to take in air. She grabbed Elrond’s hand and opened her eyes to look at him in panic. 

“Elrond, please…I cannot breathe…” 

“That corset has to come off,” Círdan said brusquely. He did not wait for anyone else to act. He moved Ilmarë to her side, grabbed the back of her dress, and yanked it open. 

Elrond released Ilmarë’s hand and immediately began tugging at the laces, trying to work them loose. Círdan did not watch Elrond’s efforts for more than a moment before he growled in frustration and reached into the deep pocket of his robe. He produced a small knife, unsheathed it and pushed Elrond’s hands aside. Círdan slid the blade under the laces and sliced through them with a single pass. Free of the binding pressure of the corset, Ilmarë’s body visibly relaxed but her breathing remained shallow and rattled in her chest. 

Ereinion frowned and placed his hand on her cheek, then looked at Elrond. “She is unconscious, Elrond. Freeing her of the corset was of little use.” 

“It will help her breathe easier until I can get her upstairs.” 

Elrond stood suddenly and lifted Ilmarë from the floor. Ereinion heart clenched to see her head fall back and her arm dangle lifelessly to the side. Her body’s only movement was her still-heaving chest. Elrond carried her to the door; Ereinion and Círdan made to follow, but Elrond shook his head. 

“Ereinion, find Haleth. Have her bring fresh linens and some of her large kettles to my bedroom. The things I need to tend to Ilmarë are there. Tell Haleth to be quick about it.” Elrond reached the doorway and jerked his head to the side. “Círdan, come with me. I will need your help.” 

Círdan opened the doors and Elrond rushed through, holding Ilmarë close as he carried her. Ereinion gave a last worried look as Círdan and Elrond hurried down the hallway with Ilmarë’s limp form and then hastened to the kitchen in search of Haleth.


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This chapter is long enough as is, so I wont go into all the references I had planned, explaining how my idea of Sauron developed. But it is all based upon what Professor Tolkien himself said about Sauron. Ill give a few main points and then save the rest for when Sauron resurfaces in a few chapters as Annatar.

Chapter 12 

 

_The moonlight transformed the waters of the sea into a churning silver mass, spreading out endlessly beneath them. Sorontur flew high above the sea and Ilmarë rested her head against the cushion of feathers covering his neck. She watched the bright circle of the moon, remembering the times she and Tilion had spent together in Lórien tending to Silindrin and the dews of the silver Tree. Now he traveled through the sky with the last flower of Telperion, and its light shown from the vessel of the moon, shining down on Ilmarë as she made her own travels through the sky…though she tried not to think of where her journey would take her lest she have a change of heart and return to Valinor._

_The sea gave way to land, but Sorontur’s speed was such that Ilmarë could scarcely discern any details. The eagle’s wings stretched out to glide on the winds as he nosed downward and took them closer to the ground. Ilmarë saw a wide expanse of green - like an enormous mossy patch spreading across the lands below. Sorontur flew lower still, and when the lands of Beleriand came closer into view Ilmarë realized she was looking at the top of a giant forest._

_“Doriath…” Sorontur continued to look straight ahead, but the word came to Ilmarë as clearly as if he had spoken it aloud._

_Melian’s home…Ilmarë watched the forest pass swiftly beneath them, the very place that had given her friend so great a joy and so grievous a pain._

_Sorontur’s wings beat the air as he turned toward the north. The green roof of Doriath ended in blackness Ilmarë’s eyes could not penetrate. Cold horror crept into her spirit and her arms tightened around the feathered neck as she struggled to overcome the fear that clutched at her._

_“His power begins here, Ilmarë. The Elves call this place Nan Dungortheb. Mortals call it the Valley of Dreadful Death. It is an evil place and all avoid it. There is still time to turn back.”_

_Ilmarë closed her eyes and pressed her face into Sorontur’s feathers, but shook her head and sent her silent reply. “No, Sorontur, there is no time. I must do this. If you are willing to take me, my friend, then I am willing to go.”_

_The eagle did not reply and kept his golden eyes focused on the approaching horrors ahead. Soon, his voice echoed in her head again._

_“Look below – the Ered Gorgoroth, and they border our destination: Taur-nu-Fuin, the Forest Under Night. It is here that he makes his home.”_

_When the lands beyond the black rim of mountains came into view she gasped. The horror she felt over Dungortheb was tenfold here. Everywhere were hideous trees, if they could indeed be called trees, twisted into skeletons and crowded close together in a mass forest grave. Roots groped blindly like tentacles in the dark, reaching up from the putrid earth and searching for prey. Pale and bent figures slithered their way beneath the trees, lighting the forest floor with an unwholesome light. The phantoms turned their faces toward the sky as the eagle passed overhead. Their deformed limbs stretched toward the sky, and Ilmarë shuddered to see that they beckoned to her.  
“Do not fear them, Ilmarë. We are too far away, they cannot reach us,” came Sorontur’s voice yet she paid it little heed._

_Ilmarë’s eyes welled with tears and she whispered, “These are not the lands he wished to create. This is not what he abandoned Valinor for.”_

_It was a quiet whisper but not one that escaped Sorontur’s hearing. He hoped with all his being that Ilmarë was right, yet he could not bring himself to remind her that she, too, had been abandoned for the foul sights below. A flash of movement caught his eye and he flinched, pulling up and veering to the side._

_“Hold tight…” he said aloud this time._

_Ilmarë buried her fingers into Sorontur’s feathers as the eagle let out a great screeching cry that filled the night. Another cry joined his, chilling her spirit with its malice. A shadow swept past and Ilmarë ducked aside. She heard metal slice through the air above her head, stirring her hair as it passed. Sorontur faced the specter and slashed at it with his great talons. Another cry rang out, this one in pain; the eagle had found his mark._

_The shadow flitted away and Sorontur veered toward their attacker as it came around. The thing threw out its wings to slow its flight and Ilmarë recoiled in disgust to see it was a woman. A woman of sorts, that is…feathered wings spread out from her body and iron claws glinted at the tips. It bore a woman’s body and head, but a tangled black mat of hair covered whatever features the face had. Only the eyes burned red in the gloom._

_Sorontur watched the creature’s blood fall and strike the black earth below, hissing and smoking. He mocked the thing with a triumphant cry and its mouth opened to reveal rows of razor teeth._

_With a scream, it flew at them again and Sorontur prepared for another attack. A white light burst from Ilmarë’s hands, now extended toward the sky. The air filled with an acrid smell and she spread her arms wide as the light arced back and forth between her palms, crackling loudly. She drew back and prepared to fling the bolts but her target was suddenly knocked across the sky as though struck by some unseen fist._

_The vampire cried out in pain and frustration and made another determined drive to reach Ilmarë. A roar shook the forest accompanied by another invisible blow, striking from the shadows, flinging the vampire across the sky. Flames of light exploded from the air and agonized screams trailed behind the thing as it disappeared into the night._

_Sorontur flew slowly and cautiously as he and Ilmarë searched the sky. But no further threat came to them - only a voice from the night._

_“You may pass to the tower unhindered. Nothing will harm you.”_

_Ilmarë’s hands immediately fell to her side and the white light vanished. Many things had changed over the years but the caressing sound of his voice was not among them. A cloak of protective warmth fell around her and her fear faded, yet her apprehension did not._

_The folds of that cloak did not rest well on Sorontur’s shoulders and he resumed his speedy flight. “He promises us safe passage, yet I will remain wary until we reach the tower. In fact, I will remain wary until this place is far behind us,” he said._

_Ilmarë offered no comment and remained wary as well. Despite the protection they had been given, she grew more anxious with each passing moment. They flew further into the forest and Ilmarë saw terrible things…things that slithered along the ground; things that weaved their way through the gnarled branches of the trees, springing from one tree to the next; things that fell upon one another, ripping and shredding the pallid flesh of their kin for there were no innocents nearby to expend their lust and hatred upon…_

_A tower came into view, hewn of unfinished stone as dark and forbidding as its surroundings. It sat alone in a clearing; no trees or phantoms surrounded it, only the dead, grey lands. Here was the black heart of this place and Ilmarë could feel the evil there, pulsing with each beat of that forsaken heart, coursing fresh hate and malice through the veins spreading out into the forest._

_On the uppermost floor of the tower an enormous balcony had been carved from the stone. The tower doors stood open and light spilled from them, the only bright mark in the gloom. Sorontur swooped down to the balcony and landed silently. Ilmarë slid from his back and dropped to the stone floor. The dark evil filling the forest was not here. It stood as an island of calm amidst the sea of terror, yet Ilmarë’s spirit quailed as she forced herself to move toward the open doors. Sorontur folded his wings against his body and walked behind her, fully intending to at least put his head in the doorway should his body not fit. Ilmarë held up a hand and spoke aloud and even her melodic voice rang hollow in the stillness._

_“No, Sorontur, wait here,” she said and his head bobbed up and down in agitation. Ilmarë saw he was set to argue with her and she shook her head. “ I know you wish to look after me, but this I must do alone.”_

_He heard the firm tone of Ilmarë’s voice and knew she was right. Ilmarë must see to this task. “Very well. Call out if you have need of me. I will be here, waiting,” he said, and with that, Sorontur hopped onto the balcony’s ledge and perched, facing the forest._

_Ilmarë crossed the wide balcony to the curtains covering the doorway. She pushed the thin fabric aside and entered the tower. Once inside she came to an abrupt halt, completely unprepared for what she saw._

_She had been steeling herself against what monstrosities would await. Yet now she saw that the interior of this room did not differ much from her home or any other on Eressëa. Carpets covered the polished stone floor, well-made furniture was placed throughout the room, and many lanterns filled the room with warm light. A door stood open on the far side of the room and beyond it was obviously a bedroom with a large bed and rich tapestries covering the walls._

_“Close the doors behind you.”_

_Ilmarë spun around to look for the source of the voice. She saw no one, but did as she was told. Through the filmy curtains she watched Sorontur’s immobile form as she swung the doors shut, the heavy wood hiding the eagle from her sight. The click of the latch as it closed sent a shock of realization through Ilmarë; she was alone. No, not alone, said the whisper of fabric on the floor behind her and the presence filling the room._

_“Come inside. You did not journey this far to stand upon the threshold,” the deep voice spoke again and Ilmarë found the source this time._

_A robed figure emerged from a darkened doorway and she watched him cross the room in silence to take a seat. The chair he chose easily accommodated the tall form and he eased himself onto the dark wood with a grace that did not match his powerful build._

_His face was lost among the folds of the crimson hood of his robe. Only his hands were visible where they gripped the arms of the chair – large hands, well formed with long tapered fingers. Hands capable of creating great things and giving untold pleasures, and hands capable of unspeakable deeds and cruel acts... Ilmarë knew those hands._

_“Well, well…it seems the impossible is possible after all. You now stand with me in the lands of Middle-earth – a thing you vehemently swore would never come to pass, just before you deemed me worthless and cast me aside,” he said in a voice which soothed her even as his accusations stung._

_The effect his voice had on Ilmarë was also among the things that had not changed, even when it spoke scathing taunts. Clearly his opinion of her had not changed either. She had assumed that after all this time his presence would not affect her, and it had been a foolish assumption on her behalf._

_Despite all that had come to pass, she was drawn to him - as she had been for almost as far as her memories stretched…since times before these lands or even Arda itself existed. The accounts of his cruelty and malice were no secret to her, but for her that being existed only in the tales others told of him. Her memories were of a being filled with hopes and aspirations, skilled in all manner of things and readily lent help to those who required it. One who had looked to Aulë as dearly as a son would look to a father, and a being who had proclaimed she was the light that fulfilled him and the star he could not bear to let stray from his sight… In the end, it had been he who strayed. Now with a hope born in the desperation of emptiness and loss, she would try to bring him home._

_But Ilmarë did not know how much of the being she had loved remained in this stranger sitting before her yet she fought the weakness in her spirit of wanting to go to him, even now._

_“It was not you who was cast aside, and never did I deem you worthless.” Ilmarë said and sighed. “I did not come here to debate past wrongs with you. I come to offer you warning and a chance for redemption.”_

_A moment’s pause was the only sign that her words had affected him. “For what reason would you come to me with these offerings? You are presumptuous to think I would care to hear them.”_

_“If you wish it, I will leave and bother you no more,” Ilmarë said as she moved toward the door. Yet her eyes did not miss the pensive movement he made, as though he would rise. She did not need words to know that he wanted her to stay and that her presence affected him as well. He resumed his nonchalant bearing with a wave of his hand._

_“I will listen to your warnings. They must be dire, indeed, for one so pure and faultless to sully herself by coming to speak to such a vile being,” he said in a voice filled with disdain._

_Now knowing his sarcasm to be false, Ilmarë ignored it and said, “Do you know the prophecy of the one who will come to Aman in a time unseen? The last hope of Elves and Men?”_

_“I have heard of this, yes…” he said and paused for a moment, “…and what has that to do with me?”_

_“What you have not heard is that the name of this messenger has been known to the Council of the Valar. They wait to see if the one named Eärendil will reach the shores of Valinor,” Ilmarë said._

_Another moment’s pause told of his surprise at this revelation. “Eärendil?” he asked. “The Half-Elven offspring of Gondolin?”_

_“Yes, the same,” she answered him with a nod. “He is at sea, searching for Valinor. Eönwë believes the mariner comes to ask for the Valar’s aid against Morgoth, and he says they will give it to him. There will be a war and those of Valinor will not rest until Morgoth is defeated.”_

_Ilmarë paused and he waited, impassive as he turned these revelations over in his mind. Clearly she had more to tell and he had no response as of yet. Her hand strayed into her hair and began the absent, nervous twisting. He shifted in his chair when he saw this, at last realizing she was frightened of him._

_Finally, her hurried words spilled out, like a child’s confession. “Morgoth’s form will be executed and his spirit cast into the Void…and the same will be done with you. No pardon will be offered to you. Eönwë has said he will see to this.”_

_The weight of the words hung silent in the air but he still showed no outward sign of the shock he felt as he said, “If no pardon is to be offered, then why were you sent?”_

_Ilmarë hesitated, knowing what needed to be said would be so much more difficult than what had already been said. She looked up toward the lights hanging from the high ceiling above her. Abandoning the twisting of her hair, she folded her arms, one over the other, wrapping herself in a tight embrace. Now he would know her part in it and the thought that he would turn her away frightened her more than anything else had on this secretive journey._

_“I was not sent,” she said at last, “when Eönwë told me of this, I left Valinor in secret to find you. Sorontur helped me out of friendship…for both you and I.”_

_He leaned forward, ready to rise, and Ilmarë rushed toward him, thinking his intention was to leave now that he knew she had acted alone. She knew he was still angry with her for denying him and she would humble herself if it would make him listen. Kneeling before his chair, she held her hands out to him as she pleaded._

_“Abandon Morgoth…” she said, looking to his face still lost in the shadows of the hood, “renounce your allegiance to him and leave Beleriand. You cannot be here when the hosts of Valinor come. Go as far from here as you can…to the empty lands deep in the south, and stay hidden until Morgoth is destroyed. Give the Valar proof that you are worthy of a pardon.”_

_He sat poised on the edge of the chair and though she could not see his face, Ilmarë knew he watched her. His voice was cold as he said, “Cowardice is not proof that one is worthy of a pardon.”_

_“No…it is not cowardice they will see, but fidelity,” she said, still holding her hands out to him, but now in an attempt to reason. “None outside the Council of the Valar know what I have told you of Eärendil and the plans of war. You could take this knowledge to Morgoth and warn him, if your allegiance to him is still true. But I do not believe it is. When the war is finished, I will tell Manwë what I have done, offer him irrefutable proof that you had the opportunity to betray Valinor, yet did not.”_

_She bowed her head to him and said, “Please, do not let your anger with me cause you to make a choice that cannot be undone.”_

_His hands gripped the arms of the chair, so tightly that Ilmarë heard the wood crack. “I have already made choices of that nature.” His voice became demanding as he said, “You did not answer my earlier question. Why did you come here to offer me this? I could kill Sorontur - we both know I am more powerful than the both of you. I could take you prisoner… deliver you to Melkor, along with what you have told me of Valinor’s plans for war. I would be given a substantial reward for such loyalty.”_

_Ilmarë’s head came up and tears rolled from her eyes as they filled with hurt…and fear. The possibility of his betrayal had not been considered, so certain had she been of his willingness to return._

_“I did not think…” she whispered._

_He pushed himself out of the chair and his tense body rose to full height. His angry voice seemed to shake the very walls. “Then what did you think, Melinárë? Why would you put yourself in danger for my sake? Why did you come?”_

_She clenched her fists and glared up at him. Her tears continued to spill but she returned his shouts of anger, saying, “Because I refused to believe that you wished to stay in Morgoth’s service. Enough time has passed for you to have seen through his false promises, and I thought that given the chance, you would wish to return home.”_

_His shoulders slumped and he turned away as he said, “Valinor is not my home any longer. Home welcomes and there are none there who welcome me.”_

_She rose to her feet and held her hands out again. “I would welcome you.” Ilmarë summoned her courage and stepped closer to him. “Valinor does not have to be your home. You could come to Eressëa…with me. It is my home now. Before today, I had not returned to Valinor since the death of the Trees.”_

_The hem of his robe flared out as he whirled around and took angry strides toward her. “Why? You swore you would never leave it. Or was it merely that you would not leave it for me?”_

_Ilmarë retreated in the face of his anger, but then stood firm and her voice rose again. “I did leave it for you. Yavanna branded me as a spy of Morgoth when the Trees were destroyed… because I would never condemn you like the others did. She was relentless in her anger for me and I fled. Without you, there was nothing for me in Valinor except grief and loneliness.”_

_He stopped suddenly and his quiet betrayed nothing. In a quiet voice he said, “What of Eönwë and Varda? Manwë?”_

_She took a hesitant step toward him and shook her head. “None of them ease my pain.”_

_Ilmarë could sense his hesitation and doubt; now tears of relief spilled from her eyes, for she knew she had been correct. He did wish to return. A rash impulse gripped her. She risked moving close enough that she could almost touch him and voiced her impetuous mind._

_“If you do this, if you leave Beleriand and renounce Morgoth, and still the Valar refuse you pardon…I will do what you asked of me. I will leave Aman and come to Middle-earth with you. We will find some distant land and leave everything behind…nothing will matter but that we are together.”_

_He did not move – afraid to breathe, for the flame of hope stirring within him was faint enough that a breath might extinguish it. “And what of the rest, Melinárë…” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “what of the pleas I made to you so many times throughout our years together?”_

_Ilmarë was reluctant to answer. Her hand rose before her will could halt it, reaching out to push the hood from his head and allow her a glimpse of his face. Her courage wavered and she pulled her hand back quickly to press it against her chest. “I will give you anything you ask for…I have paid dearly for my rejection of you and I wish to pay for it no more,” she said._

_He closed the distance between them and reached for Ilmarë, impatient to touch her. She watched him with a growing smile until he suddenly halted and withdrew his hands. Though he was near, Ilmarë still could not see his face in the shadows of the hood yet she could feel the heat from his form and spirit. She reached for him and he held out his hands to ward her off._

_“I fear to touch you,” he told her, “I do not wish to taint you with the curse of evil I have brought upon myself. I do not know if I will ever be free of it. I cannot accept what you offer; I cannot let you risk yourself for my sake. Eönwë is right. There should be no pardon for me. The foul servant should be thrust into the Void with his master,” he said in a voice filled with self-loathing and disgust._

_Ilmarë could stand the distance between them no longer and she rushed toward him, taking his outstretched hands and pressing them to her cheeks even as he tried to pull away. Once her skin was beneath his hands what resistance he had was fleeting; his fingers tightened on her face, eagerly touching her. Tears ran down the back of his hand as Ilmarë pressed her face into his palm._

_“Rušurayan…” she said through her tears, “I will not be parted from you again. If you face your punishment then I will follow you. I would rather face the Void at your side than be without you again.”_

_“Do not even speak such a thing, Melinárë…” he chastised her but the darkness in his spirit lifted to hear those words and to know his mistakes had not cost him the one he loved above all else._

_He gazed down at Ilmarë; she wore the same beautiful form as when he last saw her, and to him it was but a trace of the beauty he perceived in her spirit. Seeing her tears, he knew his Melinárë must be told the truth of his mistakes before she made such a sacrifice._

_“Do not open your eyes,” he said as he raised his hand._

_He pulled away the velvet hood, intending to allow Ilmarë to look at him but the temptation of her beautiful, waiting face was too great. In an instant, his lips were opening against hers, his tongue making no questing overtures before filling her mouth with its fierce and desperate kiss. Ilmarë was equally unrestrained and her lips and tongue showed no reserve as the years fell away, her fervent love for him consuming her once more. Her spirit reached out to meet his but he could not yet allow that pleasure. He enjoyed the taste and feel of her mouth even as he raised her hand and placed it on his shoulder, trying to suppress the dread he felt._

_Ilmarë eagerly ran her hand across the broad expanse of shoulder and up into the length of his hair. Not even his roaming hands and demanding mouth could distract her from the pleasure of touching his form again. Her hand ran through the soft threads of his hair and up to his face but when her fingers met his cheek she gasped. The skin that had once been soft beneath her hands was now a mass of ridges and shallow depressions._

_She jerked her head away and his hair caught her eye first, still the deep burnished red she remembered, and then her gaze fixed on his. All else faded against the joy of looking into his eyes once more and Ilmarë saw nothing but their brown depths. She slowly noticed the anxious way he studied her. When the rest of his face came into focus, her eyes filled with tears again._

_“Oh…no, no…who has done this to you?” Ilmarë said, her hands shaking as they touched his face and the once-handsome features now covered by scars._

_“Melkor does not tolerate disobedience in his servants,” he said and his voice offered no sign of how much that admission had cost him._

_Her own face marred with lines of anguish, Ilmarë waved her hand in a commanding gesture above his chest and the top of his robe fell open. She pushed the edges of the robe apart, exposing more skin and finding more marks, each discovery increasing the pain on her face. Scars now covered his chest and shoulders. Her fingers trembled along the lines of healed gashes, pocked depressions of old burns, and the roughened areas where the flesh had been stripped away._

_She did not want to think of the ways in which these injuries had been done and she shook her head to deny the images. An anguished gasp escaped her when she saw his neck. Her hands covered the skin that had been brutally ripped and torn and she began to weep in earnest._

_“No, Melinárë, do not cry,” he said and gathered her against him. “Do not cry for what I brought upon myself with my selfish choices…and you should cry least of all for the scars given to me by Huan. The Hound of Valinor defeated me but he saved me as well in his own way…he and Lúthien.”_

_“Lúthien…Melian’s daughter? I do not understand…” she said. Her tears still dampened the skin of his chest but they had slowed._

_“Nor did I understand at the time,” he said, gently stroking her hair, “but understanding came to me at last during my solitude here. Come…sit with me and I will tell you.”_

_He led her to his chair and tried to seat her in the one beside it. Ilmarë shook her head, instead motioning for him to sit. When he did, she climbed onto his lap and buried her head against his shoulder, still running her hands over his face as though she could heal the old scars. He tightened his arms around her and drew a deep breath._

_“I will not tell you again of the reasons I left Valinor, for I have already caused you too much pain with them. But I will tell you that now I am thankful you denied me,” he said, his arms tightening around her. “Through the cloud of my pride and vanity, I could not see that Melkor’s promises were all false. He promised me freedom and happiness, and perhaps he meant it to be that way at one time…or perhaps they were always lies. I do not know anymore.”_

_He rested his head against Ilmarë’s, taking comfort in her presence and she placed her arms around him._

_“After I came to Middle-earth to serve Melkor openly, I was shown how false his words were, but it was too late. He availed himself of every opportunity to tell me that I could never return to Valinor, that he was my master and the only one who would welcome me. When I arrived at Angband, his first lesson for me was that fear was our strongest weapon, but for fear to be effective there must first be something to fear. Then he showed me his works – the creatures he twisted beneath his hands, the lands he polluted…He told me of his plans for greater horrors, but they were discordant…with no sense of organization. That was the task he gave me - to take his ideas and make them productive. I refused. And so Melkor taught me my second lesson by giving me something to fear.”_

_A shudder ran through his form and Ilmarë raised her head. He refused to look at her, closing his eyes as his scarred face tightened. He had not realized the tale would be so difficult to tell. For many years now he had been surrounded with evil – the evil of those around him as well as his own. He had taken pride in how others feared him and at how great his evil had become. Many had been ordered to their deaths by his words and had spoken them without hesitation. Yet now he suffered each moment of this confession. That mere words could bring him to this when nothing else had made little sense to his mind. But he continued with them, nonetheless._

_“Any refusal I made was met with torture, but it went beyond damage to my form. The wounds he inflicted upon my spirit were the worst to endure. I did not know such pain was possible… My refusals lessened, until I ceased to refuse at all. There is a point of agony when the pain of others becomes insignificant compared to your own.”_

_His jaw clenched and he faced her now with an angry glare. Though his anger was not for her, his words were stern and hard._

_“I made that choice willingly, Melinárë, remember that,” he said looking into her eyes. “My anger consumed me when I was forced to leave Valinor without you. Melkor’s torture hastened my decision, but I have little doubt I would have bowed to his wishes. Perhaps I made my refusals to ensure I would be punished and could then have another to blame for my actions. I was filled with hatred and wanted nothing more than to punish you and all the others in Valinor. How I went about it was of little consequence to me. I did as Melkor wanted; I helped create his armies of foul creatures and I dealt pain and suffering to all. I thought forcing others to share in my pain would ease it in some way, but it only served to make the pain worse and so I lashed out all the harder. I have never taken life or done injury with my own hands yet they are not bloodless. Many have died terrible deaths by my order and I have willingly watched more suffering than you can imagine. Well did I earn the names of Sauron, and of Gorthaur the Cruel, and well did I earn the fear and revulsion accorded to those names. I have done many evil things.”_

_His body tensed and stiffened beneath her hands and in his face she saw that he waited for her to berate him or be repulsed. But she knew she would do neither. In a soft voice she said, “Your deeds are well known to me…they have always been. I cannot say they are of no matter to me, but they are not enough to keep me from you if your repentance is true and you have turned from that path.”_

_He fought his tears, forcing them back down - not out of shame for weeping but because his story was not yet finished and he did not want pity to affect Ilmarë’s decision. He shook his head and sighed._

_“I did not turn from that path – I was pushed from it by another. Huan bested me in battle and as I lay there with his teeth buried in my throat, my fear overwhelmed me. Whether I died or whether I fled this form, I would be returned to Melkor as are the spirits of all who serve him. Some of his servants were given measures of his power to make them stronger but Melkor wished to see me weaker, that his control of me would be that much greater. He took powers from me, among them my ability to create a new form. He bound me in this one so I would wear the reminders of my torture on this flesh. Lúthien read my fear and the cause of it. She saw what punishment I would face for my failure and showed me mercy. Where I would have taken her to Melkor as a prisoner to suffer, she showed me kindness I did not deserve - something I had not known since I abandoned you. I surrendered Tol Sirion in return for my freedom and fled to this place. Its borders have protected me and even after I leave, they should hold long enough that I will be far away before any realize I am gone.”_

_Ilmarë tried to quell her rising excitement until she was certain she had not misheard him or mistaken the meaning of his words. “Then you will do what I asked? You will renounce your service to Morgoth and leave?”_

_He cradled her face with his hands and shook his head as he said, “Do you not yet understand, Melinárë? I have already abandoned my service to him. I came here for it was the one place I could hide from his wrath. Melkor will not leave Angband now; he fears the destruction of his form. His powers are gone and those he sends to capture me refuse to enter the forest. Thuringwethil, whom you saw…she will fly over the forest to spy, but she dares not land or approach the tower.”_

_He frowned and said, “Shame and loneliness are willing companions to those who invite them. They have visited me many times in my isolation here and have taught me many things. I wished to find some way out of this dank grave I made for myself and tonight you appear and lower a rope to me. I am not deserving of it, yet I will take it, for I am empty without you. I wish only to be with you, Melinárë, whether it be in Valinor, Eressëa, Middle-earth…I do not care.”_

_Tears rolled down Ilmarë’s face again, resolving her dilemma of being unsure whether to laugh or weep. Her mind seemed incapable of comprehending that the words she longed for had at last been said. Rušurayan had chosen her above all else and her loneliness would end._

_He understood what she felt, for he felt it as well – the overwhelming moment after achieving something long desired, when all the hopes and fears that were locked away and denied come spilling out, flooding the senses with painful relief. His kiss was meant to soothe and reassure but to touch her lips did away with all restraint._

_With a moan, Ilmarë accepted his tongue again and his ravishing force soothed her tears far beyond what any gentle kiss could. She matched his efforts and her need was driven mercilessly by the power of all her centuries alone when she had thought of little else but him._

_His hands roamed her form and haste roughened his touch. In all their time he had touched no other and she had been touched by none but him - it was not allowed among the Ainur once two had been joined. Now their spirits and their forms craved release. Her hands swept down to push his robe apart and reach inside. His form tensed and then arched toward Ilmarë as her hands proved she had not forgotten what pleased him. He surrendered his hold on her mouth and rested his head against the back of the chair, closing his eyes as her fingers continued their teasing work. Soon it became too much for him to stand. His eyes snapped open to find her watching him, as he had known she would be. He reached into her hair and pulled her face down to his, stopping when their lips were near._

_“You blanket me like a host of stars. Share your light with me, that I may hold it close when you leave and the darkness returns.”_

_The whispered words brushed against her mouth and the aching need of her form was nothing compared to her spirit’s need of him. She barely managed a breathless “yes”, but it was the word he waited to hear._

_He clasped Ilmarë tightly and stood, lifting her from the ground. Her lips took up an assault of his shoulders and chest as he carried her across the room, and he decided that the bedroom was unreasonably far away. He had barely managed half the distance of the room when her lips and tongue pushed his need for her beyond any control. His legs met with a sofa next to the wall and he collapsed onto it, pulling Ilmarë with him._

_This was not the slow and gentle pleasure they had taken in one another on the green slopes of Almaren or the hidden coves of Valinor; this was the frenzied and desperate act of beings who had been denied their pleasure for too long. He bit out a single word and rid them of their coverings of burdensome fabric. As it fell away, he grasped the hips of the beautiful form he had been taunted with in dreams. He lifted Ilmarë above what her fingers had teased to an agonizing, swollen state and brought her down upon him._

_Ilmarë cried out as the length of his form entered the depth of hers. She had pushed his control purposefully, wanting to see how great his need for her was and now as he filled her, the need for him dominated her. Her spirit reached out and wrapped itself around the heat of Rušurayan’s spirit. She closed her eyes and her mind took in the sight of his raging flame, and she clutched his shoulders as his solid flesh shook her form._

_He saw the clear light of her spirit above him, surrounding him and adding to the pleasure he took in driving himself into her. Her hips began to move with his hands, giving added force to his efforts. Her fingers dug into his skin and he thrust against her with increasing momentum until she threw her head back and called out his name. With a cry, her radiance burst into many points of light. They floated down and mingled with his mounting fire. Neither his spirit nor his form could hold the sensation rising within him._

_Through the haze of satisfaction, Ilmarë felt his flesh thrust hard into her and saw his flame explode around her. The blaze of his spirit mixed with the white shimmer of hers and her form fell against him, spent and fulfilled. His arms encircled her and she rested her head on his chest as it rose and fell._

_With eyes still closed, they both watched the lights of their spirits part. His flame carried with it the sheen of glittering white lights and her radiance bore the hint of a fire’s glow._

_He was truly blanketed by her now, with her form sitting atop his and the length of her hair pooling around him and spilling down his legs. He heard her sigh and felt her relax against him._

_As he kissed the top of her head, he whispered, “My love for you has never ended, Melinárë, and it never shall.”_

_Had her sense of contentment not been so strong, her tears would have started anew to hear those soft words. She turned her head to press a kiss on his chest and she said, “Nor will mine for you, Rušurayan.”_

_He looked down at their forms still joined together and frowned as he ran his hands along her smooth skin._

_“I am sorry you must see me this way. When my powers are returned to me, I will make a new form…one that will be pleasing to look upon.”_

_Ilmarë sat up and mimicked his frown as her hand brushed his mangled skin._

_“Have you so little faith in me? Has my coming here proved nothing to you? My love is for the spirit that resides within, not the form which covers it. Yet I agree that you should make a new form. I do not want you to bear these marks of pain.” She could see the regret in his eyes as he ran his fingers across her cheek._

_“Perhaps it would be better if I wore them, to remind me of my pride and folly.”_

_“No, we should look to what is ahead of us and leave the rest behind. What has already been done cannot be changed.”_

_“Yes…that is what I fear…”_

_Ilmarë put her fingers to his lips and shook her head. “Rušurayan…that is not what I meant. We have so little time together before we must be parted again. I do not wish to spend it lamenting.”_

_“Then spend it lying next to me and talking, as we used to. I have missed that.” He slid from under her and stretched out along the sofa, pulling her down beside him. Once she was nestled firmly against him, with her head on his shoulder and his arms around her, he said, “Tell me of your home on Eressëa, so I will not feel like such a stranger when I join you there.”_

_She did not point out that his return was still only a possibility. Ilmarë knew he was all too aware of that fact, but did not speak of it for her sake. So she told him what he wished to know, beginning with the harbor of Avallónë and allowing the images to drift from her mind to his as she spoke._

_The hours passed and they both knew she must go. He held her close for a moment longer, to feel her skin against his one more time before the sensation became no more than a memory._

_“I do not want you to leave but you must if you do not wish anyone to know of your absence. Eönwë and Manwë will notice before long, for I doubt their watchfulness of you has changed. And Sorontur has been waiting very patiently.”_

_“He is an eagle, that is what they do – they watch and wait. And that is what Manwë does as well, so it is best if I return before they find me gone from Aman.”_

_They rose; Ilmarë spoke softly, and the discarded fabric covered their forms again. Rušurayan guided her back to the door, and as they drew closer to the balcony doors, Ilmarë’s anxious feeling became more pressing. When he reached for the door latches she grabbed his hands and stopped him._

_“Now that I am faced with leaving you, I do not wish to go. I love you, Rušurayan…I cannot bear the thought of being away from you again…of leaving you here alone. I will stay and send Sorontur back – we can leave for the southern lands together. After Morgoth is destroyed I will go to Manwë and ask him to grant you pardon. If he does not, then I will return to you and we will leave Valinor behind.” She was satisfied with that plan of action and was stricken to see that he was not._

_He touched her face and said, “Melinárë…to let you leave wounds me with a pain you cannot imagine, but I will not keep you in this place of evil. You cannot stay with me. Given the chance, Melkor would harm you to punish me, and that is a thought I cannot bear. I want to know you are somewhere safe, and Valinor is the safest place for you now. It will not be long until we are together again, not compared to the years we have already waited.”_

_He found her lips one last time – a gentle, searching kiss that brought tears to her eyes._

_“Though my actions have not always proven it, I love you, Melinárë. Never forget that.” And he opened the door before either of them could change their mind again._

_The light from the open doorway reflected off Sorontur’s copper feathers and he leapt from the railing to cross the balcony. He settled his body against the ground and stretched out his wing._

_“We must hurry,” Sorontur said to Ilmarë. “ If we do not return soon, our absence will be noticed… particularly yours.”_

_Ilmarë could not force herself to move from the warm circle of Rušurayan’s arms, but she felt him give her a gentle push. She walked away, not trusting herself to look back until she was seated on Sorontur’s back. Rušurayan had walked out onto the balcony and was looking up at the eagle._

_“Thank you for bringing her to me, Sorontur. It is a kindness I can never repay.”_

_He had not drawn the hood up again and Sorontur cocked his head as he studied the scarred face. The eagle remained impassive and Ilmarë began to fear that he would not respond._

_But at last Sorontur spoke, saying, “Prove that you are worthy of the sacrifice made for you here tonight, and I will consider the debt repaid. I have done this out of friendship…for you both.”_

_Rušurayan nodded. “This sacrifice will not be in vain. Nonetheless, I will be eternally indebted to you…my friend.”_

_Sorontur readied for flight but paused to say, “Make certain you are not here when we return for Morgoth. Death will be swift and painful for those who follow him and if you should be among them, I will show no mercy…my friend.”_

_With that, the eagle rose into the air and flew across the forest at great speed. Ilmarë watched the lone figure on the tower balcony until distance obscured her sight and she could see him no more._

_The light of the stars was still bright overhead as she studied them and tried to think of the best way to make Manwë and Varda understand what she had done. At last she concluded that there was no way to make them understand what she was prepared to do for Rušurayan. Likely she would have to leave Valinor and everything there behind for him._

_As she pondered this, it occurred to her that he had agreed to do as she asked only after making certain Ilmarë would concede on everything she had once denied him, and had given no concession in return. Yes, he had agreed to leave Beleriand - yet that was something that, by his own admission, he had already decided upon. She had merely given him the means by which to do it. Yet what bothered her most was that, in spite of all the joy he claimed to feel, she had not once seen a smile upon his face, and this was the thought that remained with her as Sorontur returned them to Valinor over the now-darkened seas._

 

~*~ 

 

NOTES: Whew! This chapter is long enough as is, so I won’t go into all the references I had planned, explaining how my idea of Sauron developed. But it is all based upon what Professor Tolkien himself said about Sauron. I’ll give a few main points and then save the rest for when Sauron resurfaces in a few chapters as Annatar. 

In all versions of the Silmarillion, Sauron is not heard from after his battle with Huan. There’s no mention of him until he presents himself to Eönwë after the War of Wrath is over. In many places (Letters, Morgoth’s Ring, Unfinished Tales) the professor talks about the good that still remained in Sauron when he came to Eregion and how he truly repented his deeds of the First Age and wished to redress the wrongs he had done. I think the professor did this not only to explain why the Elves trusted him in the Second Age, but also to show Sauron as another one of his characters who was a blend of both good and evil. Of course, the evil won out in Sauron. I have to assure my few readers that this isn’t going to be a ‘Sauron was really a misunderstood nice guy’ attempt. But Tolkien wanted to show that Sauron fell back into evil toward the end of the Second Age and you have to be somewhere higher to fall from. Whichever road he takes to get there, Sauron still ends up turning to evil, although he is incapable of seeing that by the Third Age.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 

 

The night sky spread out before her, and its white stars glowed with the light of the late morning sun. Ilmarë’s eyes wandered slowly over the mural above the bed as she waited for the weight of sleep to leave her body. The odd combination on the ceiling would have amused her had it not been for the dream still dominating her mind. It was more than a memory; when she closed her eyes, Ilmarë could still feel his skillful hands on her body, his tongue as it crossed her lips and joined hers, his body filling her own… Her eyes snapped open as truth dealt a blow that stunned her and left her reeling. She had loved before and now she knew whom. 

_Sauron the Destroyer…Gorthaur the Cruel…Rušurayan…_ The thought of him sent another wave of longing through her body and she shook her head to drive it away. _Elrond…_ she fought to focus her thoughts, _Elrond the half-Elven, son of Eärendil…Elrond, who is good and strong, and whom I love._

But did she truly feel love for him? asked the doubt creeping into her mind. It circled her like the relentless hunter it was, its arrows and barbs the soft, concerned questions. The sharp points lodged and did their damage; now she doubted. 

Had anyone asked before that moment, she would have said yes without hesitation. Elrond was safety, warmth, the beauty of distant lightning, and the promise of possibilities. There was no safety to be found with Rušurayan; he was dangerous and imposing, his flame blistered and seared. No distant lightning was he – his bolts struck close enough to charge the air with their power and leave her blinded by their brilliance. And to feel that torrent, that tempest stoked higher by her touch…to know she exerted a control over something so powerful…it thrilled Ilmarë with an intensity that made her heart pound against her chest just to think of it. His possessive behavior made her feel sheltered and loved. 

Tears rolled down her cheeks and wet the pillow beneath her head as truth dealt her another staggering blow. Ilmarë felt the grief rise in her throat like a gorge when she remembered what she had been told of the histories of these lands. 

Sauron had been offered a pardon after the War of Wrath. Obviously she had been successful in her pleas to Manwë - successful enough for Eönwë himself to offer amnesty. But it was not accepted. Sauron had refused and disappeared into Middle-earth, never to be heard from since that time. Some were of the opinion he had fled Arda all together – that his evil sorceries had allowed him some escape from the bonds keeping the Ainur bound to Arda. 

It made little difference to Ilmarë. Wherever he was and whatever he had done, Rušurayan had abandoned her again and his words had been only lies. If it was indeed love that she felt for him, it had been a feeling not returned. He had taken what he wanted from her and left. 

_Oh, Melian…why did you not keep this memory hidden from me? Why do you force me to face this pain again?_ Ilmarë studied the painted sky overhead, trying to fight a pervading sense of worthlessness. As she wiped the tears from her face another feeling nagged at her, until her eyes widened and realization came washing in. _The mural over my bed is a landscape of Lindon…_

She pushed herself up and swung her head around to examine the strange room, which most certainly was not hers. The heavy, green velvet curtains and bedspread, and the dark wooden walls gave Ilmarë the impression of the room being distinctly male. She sniffed at the air - almost moist with a pungent, green smell to it. Ilmarë found the source: a fire burned in the hearth on the far wall and the kettle suspended over the flames poured steam from its spout. The many vials and bottles covering the table next to the hearth had something to do with it as well, she decided. 

Ilmarë clutched her hand to her chest and recalled the dining room and the sickening feeling of being unable to draw breath. The memories came back to her now, and how she had struggled against the weight on her chest before the blackness took her. 

_The others must have brought me to this room last night. I would think they would have taken me to my own room…_

The door opened and Ilmarë started; but it was only Adanel entering from the hallway carrying another large iron kettle. The whistled tune died on her lips and the kettle almost slipped from her hands when she saw Ilmarë sitting up. 

“Miss Ilmarë, you’re awake,” Adanel near shouted, putting the kettle aside and rushing toward Ilmarë with a tearful smile. “Oh, but you gave us a fright…Master Elrond’s been in here day and night, and Master Ereinion…” She stopped and held her hands up. “You just stay right where you are.” 

Adanel pointed a finger at Ilmarë before turning to hurry back through the doorway, leaving Ilmarë to shake her head with the thought that Adanel shared her mother’s inability to let anyone else get a word in. Ilmarë looked down at the nightgown she wore, and decided she should at least locate her clothes and find out what room she was in. No sooner had she started to slide from beneath the blankets than a deep, male voice intruded.

“You should not get out of bed yet, Ilmarë.” 

Ereinion paused in the doorway for a moment before entering the room and closing the door behind him. “It would be better if you waited until Elrond decides if you are ready to be up and around. We were all very worried about you…” 

“Ereinion…do not try to behave as though nothing was wrong. How much were you shown?” She saw the way he avoided meeting her eyes and sensed his agitation. The thought of his having seen last night’s dream mortified her. 

“Enough,” was all he would say, his voice flat as he continued to study the wall. 

“How much? I have a right to know how much of my intimate memories you were privy to…” 

Ereinion turned to her and there was no mistaking the anger in his voice and the disgust on his face. “Enough to know what Sauron’s true name is and how it came to be that such an evil being was offered a pardon by the Valar. I should be thankful that I was spared the full details of the vision…yet even the vague images were enough to deduce how you spent your evening with him - and that it was clearly not the first time you found pleasure in Sauron’s arms.” 

Shame filled Ilmarë in a burning rush and she turned away, laying on her side with her back to Ereinion. Círdan had said she would not know shame until it was taught to her by the judgment of others, yet she would have never expected Ereinion to be the one to give her that lesson. She knew the judgment she saw in his eyes was well deserved, and it shamed her even more.

Ereinion saw her shoulders begin to shake and berated himself for speaking so rashly. He had not meant for it to come out so rough – he had not intended to speak of it at all – but the images from that dream had not left his mind all morning. The image of Ilmarë abasing herself before Sauron, on her knees pleading, and then reveling in his possession of her…it had been too much. Yet he regretted lashing out at her. He went to the bed and touched her shoulder, but she shrugged his hand away. 

“Just leave me be,” she said, the words thick and difficult to understand through her tears. “I will leave for Eregion immediately. Then you will not be plagued by these dreams any longer.” 

Ereinion’s gut lurched at the thought. “Your leaving will change nothing, Ilmarë. You forget, these dreams began weeks before your arrival and I have no doubt they would continue should you be foolish enough to leave.” Ereinion debated for a moment, and then sat next to her on the bed. She allowed him to rest his hand on her shoulder this time. “I do not want you to leave, even if it would bring an end to them. I should not have been so harsh…it was just so…well, it was something I did not enjoy seeing.” He felt her shoulder move beneath his hand as she continued to cry and he said, “It does not appear to be something you enjoyed seeing either. Forgive me…”

Ilmarë suddenly rolled over and laid her head on Ereinion’s leg. He tensed, but then relaxed and leaned back against the headboard, stroking her hair while she wept. 

Ilmarë drew a shuddering breath and said, “I do not know which shames me more – what I did for him and to what lengths I was willing to go…or the love I felt for him then and the pain I feel now, knowing he abandoned me yet again.” 

When she had unburdened herself with that confession, Ilmarë’s sobs came harder than before. Ereinion had no comforting words to give her, but he continued to run his hand along her hair. Many moments passed before her sobbing ceased and he finally spoke. 

“Ilmarë…do you love him still?”

Ilmarë paused, trying to sort out an answer for that. When she found she could not, she said, “How could I? He used me for his own gain and then cast me aside, as he accused me of having once done to him. He avenged himself and left. I was foolish to have believed in him or that he loved me.” 

Ereinion closed his eyes as he exhaled through his nose, the breath taking some of his tension with it. “It was a mistake, Ilmarë. Not even your kind is above making poor decisions. If they were, Morgoth would not have had so many servants…and Sauron would never have abandoned you once, let alone twice. Yet you did not return to him, you remained in Valinor – you must remember that.” 

If she had known that for certain, Ereinion’s words might have offered some comfort; Ilmarë felt she had not tried to join Rušurayan, yet some part of her feared the possibility that she had. Ereinion had been correct about one thing – to cry had brought some relief and cleared her thoughts. Why Melian sent this dream remained to be seen, but Ilmarë knew it had some significance. She would remember it, although wallowing in her past mistakes would serve no purpose now. 

_What if Elrond were to discover this?_ Ilmarë thought in a panic. _He was angered enough at the thought of my evening with Círdan. For him to know of this…of Sauron…he would surely turn his back on me for something so terrible…_

“Ereinion, what you saw…will you allow this to remain between you and I alone? Please…I do not wish for others to know…I do not wish for Elrond to know.” 

“I will not speak of it, Ilmarë. It is not my place.” _Elrond…of course…_ He shook his head and held back a sigh. “Here…I believe you know what to do with this,” he said, and produced a handkerchief from his pocket. 

Ilmarë took it and raised her head far enough to blow her nose. Shuddering with disgust, she handed the folded tissue back to him. “Do you always carry one of those with you, Ereinion?” 

“Usually…although I think I should carry more than one while you are staying with me. This seems to be another habit we are cultivating – my having to wipe your nose. It would surprise me if I did not develop the urge to wet a cloth with my tongue to wash your face, or check behind your ears to make certain they were clean.” 

Ilmarë looked up to see the ill-concealed smile on Ereinion’s lips. She sighed as she pushed herself up to sit next to him. “Yes, since I awakened on the ship I have often felt as I imagine one of your young offspring would. My allowing first Linquendil, then Círdan, and now you and Elrond to coddle me has done nothing to improve the situation either. It is something that must change.” She studied him for a moment and then nodded her head. “Thank you, Ereinion, for being so considerate of a burdensome stranger.” 

“You are no stranger, Ilmarë; you are my friend. I always do what I can to help my friends. And do not be so quick to reject coddling from your friends – most enjoy having that done for them by people who truly care.” 

Ilmarë held his gaze, once again fascinated by the brilliant blue of his eyes. But a smell wafted up and not the pleasing green smell of earlier. After a few investigatory sniffs, Ilmarë realized it was coming from her. She pulled the neckline of her gown away from her body and hesitantly sniffed inside it, then her head came back up and she exclaimed loudly. 

“Ohhh…this body smells horrid! It is so foul it brings water to my eyes. Can you not smell it, Ereinion? I am constantly disgusted by this body and its repulsive ways, and I see no end in sight…”

Ereinion stood up and laughed. “You exaggerate, Ilmarë. It is not so bad. I admit, the paste Elrond smeared on your chest was sharp enough to sting my eyes at times, but I believe the smell is because your body has not had a proper washing. With you in bed…” 

“I beg your pardon, Ereinion,” she interrupted with a pointed finger, “I bathe this body quite often, just as I was told. Even more than I was told, if you must know the truth of it. The questionable smells after I have taken long walks or when I first awake in the morning…ohh, they are too much…but it has never smelled this badly before.” 

Ereinion shook his head and sighed. “I see no point in waiting for Elrond; you seem well enough. Get out of bed…we will get you into the bath and the problem will be resolved. You have been sick for…” 

“There will be no talk of communal baths unless I am involved.” 

Círdan stood in the doorway with raised eyebrows and a bright smile. He stepped into the room and walked to the bed, shaking his head at Ilmarë. 

“Adanel found me in the kitchen and I sent her to the piers to tell Elrond. We have been quite worried about you. You said it would take a grave injury to kill this body and I do believe you came very close. Forgive me for saying, Ilmarë, but I am beginning to doubt the wisdom of your Order. You should have told us you did not feel well.” 

He reached the bed and gave Ilmarë a tight embrace. “I am thankful to see you awake and in good health again.” His nose wrinkled as he pulled back but his smile did not lessen. “I understand why Ereinion was discussing bathing you. The smell is enough to overpower me.”

Círdan winked as he moved away and Ilmarë gave him a dark look before she smiled. Ereinion had already taken a seat in a close-by chair and now Círdan sat next to him. 

She held her hands out in appeal. “I am sorry to have worried you, Círdan. I did not realize my body’s complaints were signs of an illness. Wisdom is not only what we know, it is also what we have the ability to learn and I have learned. This is a mistake I will not make again. But clearly you stayed here last night and missed visiting your friend. I am sorry for that as well.”

“Last night…?” Círdan looked to Ereinion and asked, “Did you not tell her?” 

Ereinion glanced at Círdan and shrugged. “I have not had an opportunity. You both continued to interrupt me, so I chose to remain silent until you were finished.” 

Círdan saw her frown and he leaned forward in his chair. “Ilmarë…you did not become ill last night; it has been more than a fortnight. You were very sick – I believe it would have killed a lesser mortal. Elrond did everything he could…he did not leave your side. Yesterday morning you began to breathe easier and your color returned to normal. Ereinion sent Elrond to the piers this morning to meet the arriving guests, hoping to allow him some fresh air and a respite from the vigil he has been keeping here at your bedside. Although Elrond was not overly pleased with the idea of leaving you.” 

“More than a fortnight?” Ilmarë stared blankly at the bedspread she twisted through her fingers. The idea of that much time having passed baffled her. “How could I have slept for so long?” 

“Closer to two fortnights, actually,” Ereinion replied, leaning down until he caught Ilmarë’s eye and she looked at him. “It has been 22 days since you first took ill. Apparently your body did not like being kept out in the rain and was sorely chilled. Mortal bodies are susceptible to illness and must be cared for beyond merely feeding them and keeping them clean. Your body needed time to recover, and Elrond did a good deal to help.” He looked down at his own clasped hands before adding, “And that is something else we need to discuss with you, Ilmarë.” 

“Elrond should be told the truth of who you are,” Círdan said, taking up the topic that Ereinion was clearly uncomfortable with. “You gave your word not to tell unless there was great need and trust, and I would say there are both now. There is also the fact that you have chosen Elrond to help you by allowing him escort you to Eregion. But most important of all, he cares for you, Ilmarë, and has been beside himself with worry these past weeks. It is not right to keep this from him any longer.” 

Círdan waved his hand and his smile was half-amused, half-resentful. “Not to mention Elrond has barely spoken to me since I complained about not teaching you of women’s undergarments myself. He thinks I am a cad who has shamefully taken advantage of my charge.” 

Ilmarë rested her head against the headboard and folded her arms across her chest as she gazed up at the twilight mural. The thought of Elrond worrying over her those many days was a terrible one. 

“I do not wish to ever cause him hurt…” Ilmarë said softly. 

“There is more,” Círdan continued. “What happened between you and I also gives me cause for concern… No, not for the reasons you think,” he added quickly when she gave him a stricken look and snuck a glance at Ereinion. “It is all right, Ereinion knows what happened. I told him, as I am assuming you told Elrond.” 

She nodded and Círdan said, “Ilmarë…there is an air about you that affects some people. Oh, I suppose there is no point in being subtle – it affects males, some more than others. I saw it when you went among my mariners, though none would have ever been so bold as to act upon it knowing you were in my charge. I felt it myself that night in your room, and your undressing in front of me only made matters worse. Yet before that I felt nothing greater than friendship for you. That is why I stopped, Ilmarë; it did not feel right to me. And after I left your room, I knew I was correct.” 

Ilmarë felt heat rush to her face when she thought of that night and her foolish mistake. She could not look at Ereinion for fear of seeing the judgment in his face again. _How low an opinion he must have of me…and for good reason._ With another sigh, she shook her head at Círdan. “An effect…of what sort? What is it that I do?” 

“It is not something that you do, exactly…” Círdan paused and mused over how to explain it. “When we are attracted to another, it is more than how they appear to our eyes. A person can be plain or average to look at, but what is within their spirit can make them so much more. What we see within a person’s spirit can make them seem beautiful.” 

Ilmarë nodded and said, “I see…so then it stands to reason that a person could be beautiful to look upon, yet if their spirit were darkened in some way then it would affect the way they appeared to others?” 

“Yes, that holds true as well, in my opinion,’ Círdan agreed, ‘but with you it is something all together different. To be in the presence of a Maia is unsettling for Elves or Mortals because it is beyond what we are accustomed to, even the few of us who have stood in the presence of a Maia before. This body you have now, it is beautiful by our standards, although you do not seem to share that opinion – but even with your spirit cloaked as it is, there is enough of it to draw others to you, especially others to whom you are drawn as well. To feel the full focus of your attention in that way is overwhelming, at least in my experience. Although Ereinion says it was overwhelming for him, as well.” 

She looked at Ereinion in complete shock. He would not meet her eye and continued to watch Círdan. Ilmarë could not understand it…these issues with attraction and desire confused her. She could only hope that politics and government would not be this confusing or she would fail utterly. _Tis little wonder the problems of these lands are so numerous. I have been beset by the woes of confusion, desire and attraction since awakening in this wretched form._ But a thought occurred to her, _Was this part of the reason I was sent in a permanent form and not my assumed form? To gain a better understanding of the difficulties of residing in such a weak, lacking form in such demanding lands? That would allow the Valar a better understanding of how to help, if ever they chose to again…_

If that were the case, then there were questions she must ask. “Many things about the desires of this body confuse me and I am glad of the chance to have you explain them. Tell me, Círdan…why can I not control the attraction this body feels for others?” Ilmarë held her hands out in helpless frustration. “I did not feel this way for Linquendil or any of his mariners, nor for anyone I saw on Númenor, yet I felt it first for you, then for Elrond when I met him, and I felt strongly attracted to Ereinion when I first saw him. I have tried to ignore them, but these feelings bombard me. I fear that perhaps this body is damaged, what with my memory being far more lacking than it should be and these abnormal feelings that plague me.” 

Círdan could not suppress his amusement, and he threw back his head and laughed. “Abnormal? And who told you these feelings were abnormal? Probably the same person who told you that ridiculous nonsense of ladies always wearing corsets.” 

She smiled at Círdan as he continued to laugh, but Ereinion did not share their mirth. Now he regarded Ilmarë with disbelief, shocked at her casual admission. His surety and the pace of his heart both briefly faltered and, for the first time since making his decision, he began to doubt whether he had chosen correctly. Ilmarë paid him no attention; she was waiting for Círdan’s laughter to subside so he could continue. 

At last, Círdan said, “As we have discussed before, you are at the mercy of your body just as we all are, yet your control is less because it is mortal. Although I believe you are capable of learning greater control given enough time and practice.” 

He waved his hand and said, “But that is beside the point. There is nothing abnormal about finding more than one person attractive. It is something I am sure has happened to us all on many occasions. From what you have told me, your mind was otherwise occupied on the ship with the newness of the situation, and since reaching Lindon, the three of us are the only males you have had any real interaction with…and at the risk of sounding immodest, we are different, if you will.”

Círdan smiled again at the ever-increasing confusion on Ilmarë’s face. “Elrond is an unusually attractive man by Elven or Mortal standards, and I have been told on many occasions that I am quite handsome myself.” Círdan grinned shamelessly at this and then nodded his head toward Ereinion. “And our dear Ereinion is considered to be remarkably appealing, even among the Elves. Why, he and I were acquainted with a Númenórean by the name of Aldarion, very handsome in his own right. Aldarion claimed that if Ereinion were female, he would have taken him to wife without hesitation.” 

Despite his pensive mood, the mention of their fondly remembered friend drew a laugh from Ereinion. But Círdan grew serious when he faced Ilmarë again. 

“While it is not abnormal, Ilmarë, it is one of the things that causes me worry. I worry that neither you nor Elrond are prepared for where this is leading, and that considering the circumstances, it would be better if you reconsidered pursuing a relationship with him right now. Perhaps we should arrange for someone else to escort you to Eregion.” 

Ilmarë frowned and shook her head vehemently. “No, Círdan; although I respect your advice, I will do neither. To have you tell me this is not unusual relieves me greatly, as there are times when I doubt my own judgment. I suspected that my feelings for you had something to do with the wine I drank; it was more my attraction to Ereinion that concerned me, for there was no obvious cause. But what I feel for Elrond is different than what I have felt for anyone else.” 

Círdan opened his mouth to argue, but Ilmarë held up her hand. “Please…listen. In the days before I reached Lindon, something came over me. In the evenings when I looked out over the sea from the railings of the ship, there was a sense of…” Ilmarë took a deep breath and she could almost smell the salt air and feel the drumming urgency that had filled her body as they drew closer to Middle-earth. 

“…anticipation. Something awaited me in these lands, something that called to me. My arrival in Lindon did not ease it, and it grew stronger with each day. When you told me that Ereinion would be arriving to escort me to Mithlond the sensation grew to the point that I could think of nothing else. That is why I remained outside by the water while you readied my things. And when I turned to find Elrond next to me, the anticipation went away and was replaced by what I feel for Elrond.” 

Ilmarë stopped and fell silent, her thoughts of Elrond holding her attention. Círdan looked pointedly at Ereinion, clearly waiting for him to say something; and when he did not, Círdan cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow, but Ereinion continued to ignore him. Finally, Círdan blew out a disgusted snort and turned away. 

“Then that is all the more reason to tell him the truth, Ilmarë. You must allow him to be certain what he feels is more than just this overpowering attraction you seem to bring about. Elrond is extremely wise about a good many things, but he has little experience with feelings of this nature. You could cause him a deep hurt if you came to find later that you were mistaken. ” 

Ilmarë shook her head in denial, now dismissing her earlier doubts. “I am not mistaken, Círdan…and Elrond feels more than mere attraction for me. He even spoke of love. I have no reason to doubt what he says. He asked that I wait and allow him time to decide what beliefs he will hold to, and if we must wait for marriage before we share ourselves with one another. From the manner of his touch on me, I do not think I will have to wait long for a decision…” 

Ereinion suddenly stood up and said, “You will have to excuse me now. I must leave the two of you to finish this discussion. The guests will be here soon and I should prepare…” 

The bedroom door was thrown open and Elrond burst into the room, his cheeks flushed and his breathing a little harder than usual. When he caught sight of Ilmarë sitting up in bed and beaming at him, he stopped and stared at her as a wide smile spread across his face. 

 

~*~


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Im putting my own twist on the marriage customs. Im portraying the Sindar to be a more Bohemian culture, still with permanent, monogamous marriages, but a little more laid-back about what goes on before hand. And the Noldor are the ones with the more rigid, uptight beliefs. All of this is merely for the purpose of my story. For more information about the possible marriage beliefs of the Eldar, see Laws and Customs of the Eldar in Morgoths Ring, History of Middle-earth, vol X.

Chapter 14

 

Elrond rushed to the bedside. There might well have been no others in the room for all the attention he paid them. His eyes did not leave Ilmarë and her smile grew wider the closer he came. When he sat beside her, Ilmarë held her hands up and started to warn him of the stench of her body and the horrible taste in her mouth but Elrond crushed her against him and silenced her with his eager lips. Elrond threaded his fingers through her hair and his tongue deepened the kiss, and she did not care if her odor offended. Ilmarë wrapped her arms around him, happy to touch him again. 

Elrond released her and ran his hands over her face. “Ilmarë…” he said. 

She looked up at him expectantly, but he dismissed the thought in favor of pulling her into his arms for another kiss. 

Elrond’s hurried entrance had delayed Ereinion’s abrupt exit, and now Ereinion stared fixedly at the impassioned reunion. His frown grew darker until at last he swung his head away. He stood there for a moment, fighting his agitation but finally gave up and left the room, ignoring Círdan’s glare. After Ereinion closed the door behind him, Círdan settled into his chair to wait. His worried look faded and the corner of his mouth turned up to see the happiness Elrond and Ilmarë displayed.

Elrond pulled away again and the tenderness in his eyes stole her breath. “You are awake,” he told her, “at last you are awake. I have been so frightened for you. I should have been here when you woke…I am sorry…” 

“No, Elrond,” she shushed him, “you have no reason to be sorry. Círdan and Ereinion told me you stayed by my side the entire time.”

“You remained here in my room so I could watch over you.” Elrond said. “I slept beside you every night; though there were nights when I did not sleep…could not sleep, for fear of waking to find you…” He frowned and shook his head firmly. “No, I would just as soon be rid of those dark thoughts. They are of no matter now – now that you are awake and well…” 

Ilmarë pressed her lips together to swallow the mass rising in her throat. _He lay here night after night, not knowing if I would live or die. And not knowing that it made no difference…_

She brushed the tears from her cheeks and leaned up to place quick kisses on his mouth as she ran her hands along his hair. 

“Elrond…please,” she said between kisses, “please forgive me for putting you through so much unnecessary worry.” 

He grasped Ilmarë by the shoulders and moved her back enough to see the shock on his face. 

“Unnecessary? I had only just found you and already I faced losing you. You would have left me…yet you would not have been completely beyond my reach…” 

His pained look tore at her and she stopped him. “Elrond, no…no. Listen and I will tell you the truth. Had this body failed I would have likely been returned to another body just like it and sent back to these lands. And even had I not, you would have found me again in Valinor when you crossed the sea.” 

Elrond slowly shook his head, denying the possibility of what Ilmarë told him. “I…I do not understand.”

Ilmarë swallowed another mass – this one not seeking exit, but seeking to block the words she must speak. “I cannot leave this world, Elrond,” she said, watching him closely. “When I chose to come to Arda with the others of my kind, I became bound to it until its end. The Valar wished to send one of my Order for this task and of the Maiar, Varda chose me. This body is a shell, housing my spirit. I cannot die.” 

His eyes dropped away from hers and he stared at the wooden boards of the floor. Ilmarë took notice of the shifting emotions on his features – first confusion then relief, questioning then anger, and finally nothing. His face remained blank as he spoke.

“Why did you not tell me this before?” he asked without raising his eyes. 

“The Valar forbid me to reveal my true nature. I should have told you – I should have told you before, but I was filled with fear of breaking my word to the Valar. If I were not so weak in doubting my own judgment, I would have been truthful with you from the beginning. Yet everything else I have told you is true, Elrond…everything.” 

“Then why do you tell me now?” 

Still he kept his eyes averted and desperation built within her. “Because I trust you, Elrond; I have from the moment I met you, and now because of what we share I must tell you. You feared my death and I will not have you put through that pain of worry again.”

Elrond closed his eyes and rested his head against his fingers as they moved in a slow circle against his temple. “It is obvious Círdan knows…and Ereinion?” 

“He knows. He surmised it the night I arrived here. I showed you the gifts sent with me because I hoped you would reason it out as well.” 

“Then it is not Númenor you come from, but Valinor. And you would have known Melian and…the others of my family.” 

It was a statement not a question. Ilmarë nodded, then realized Elrond could not see her answer. His eyes remained closed and he now used both hands to massage his temples. 

“Melian and I have different masters among the Valar, but yes, I know her well…and Thingol. As for your mother and father, I am unsure. Yet I believe I knew Elros while he lived, though now it is nothing more than a fleeting familiarity.” 

Ilmarë pulled his hand away from its slow circling and brought it to her mouth. She kissed the back of his hand before pressing it against her cheek. “Elrond, please…please do not be angry with me. I was wrong to have kept these truths from you – I should have told you.” 

Elrond opened his eyes, but remained silent as he examined her face intently. Ilmarë forced herself to hold his gaze even though fear and regret made her want to look away. She did not realize she had been holding her breath until Elrond’s smile caused her to blow out a shaky exhale.

“I am angry you deceived me, and that you are Maiar is a thing I must come to terms with, yet neither seem especially important to me at the moment.” His hand joined the other already pressed to Ilmarë’s cheek and his kiss was gentle and forgiving. 

“This explains many things for me. At times you seemed like a child and at times I saw wisdom and age in your eyes; I could not decide which was the truth. Now I understand both are true. There was something about you from the moment I saw you on the shores, yet I thought what I felt for you made you seem different from all others for me.” 

His smile gave her comfort, like the soft glow of a candle in a dimmed room, and his eyes warmed her more than the fire blazing in the hearth across the room. 

“I have many questions for you, but they will wait for now. That you will not be taken from me is what most important. I need not fear losing you, and it makes the decisions we face much easier…” 

“Perhaps, Elrond…or perhaps not. There are things you must consider first, things you must still be told.” 

Círdan’s voice caused both Elrond and Ilmarë to jump, due in part to their distraction and in part to his silence. Now reminded of his presence, Elrond turned to face Círdan where he sat in the chair near the foot of the bed. 

‘What things, Círdan?” 

“Things that must be taken into consideration before you make any decisions based on your feelings for Ilmarë.” 

When Elrond looked to Ilmarë for answers she could offer him only a worried expression, and so he turned back to Círdan. 

“I know Ilmarë has told you of what happened between she and I,” Círdan was saying, “but I will tell you now – it was a mistake. Admittedly, not one of which I am overly regretful, but a mistake nonetheless. Ilmarë’s body is beautiful, yes, but that is not what drew me. It was that hint of the Maiar spirit still evident in her; something she must learn to control or conceal. Ereinion has felt it, too. And I believe you have as well, although much stronger because of your heritage.” 

Elrond’s silent, stony gaze made even Círdan fight the urge to turn away. 

“I know you do this out of concern, Círdan, but it is unnecessary. I agree what happened between you and Ilmarë was a mistake, one brought about by weakness on both your parts. What I feel for Ilmarë is not a mistake, nor is it something brought about by the scant Maiar blood I bear.”

“At least consider the possibility, Elrond.” Círdan leaned forward in his chair, holding his hands out in an attempt to reason. “Think carefully on it. Ilmarë was lonely and longed for Valinor until the day you arrived at my home, and she seemed to find a certain peace in your presence. You are the last of Melian’s direct descendants left in these lands and you have long been lonely and kept to yourself…ever since Elros…” 

“Enough, Círdan…enough.” Elrond sounded angry now. “Speak not of what you do not understand. You think the blood of my line brings on these feelings…blood that sets me apart from others and makes me feel isolated. And you believe Ilmarë eases this for me because we share the Maiar blood. I understand what it is you are trying to tell me. Now you must understand it is yet another mistake on your part.”

Elrond turned to Ilmarë with an earnest expression, close to imploring. “He is mistaken.” He pulled her hands to his chest and kept them there, covered by his own. “What I share with you is love. I feared to say it to you before, but I will not be so stupid again. Do you believe me, Ilmarë? Do you believe that I love you?” 

Risking a glance at Círdan’s face was unnecessary. Ilmarë sensed the disapproval radiating from him, and she wanted to swat it away like a bothersome gnat. She wanted it to leave her be and let the shock and joy of Elrond’s words take her. What he shares with me is love she repeated his words in her mind; he loved her. But in the midst of her reverie, doubt found a crack to slink its way through; now it whispered again – _do you love Elrond? How can you be certain after claiming love for Rušurayan?_ Yes, I am certain, she decided, and gave doubt a firm kick to cease its mutterings. Love was what she saw on Elrond ‘s face as he watched her, what she felt in his hands when he touched her… 

“Yes, Elrond, I believe it…and oh, how I have longed to hear you say it. Círdan told me it can take many years for love to grow between two people or they can feel love from the moment they meet. That is what came to pass when I first saw you, Elrond – I saw you and I loved you.” 

Elrond searched for the appropriate words and at last decided there weren’t any. There were other, more fitting ways to convey what he felt; he allowed his body to communicate what his voice could not. His hands made their way into her hair again and his mouth found it much easier to show Ilmarë what he felt rather than speaking it. 

Caught up in the relief and passion of confessing their love to one another, they did not notice Círdan rising from his chair. He started to speak, but thought better of it and waved his hand in aggravation before walking to the door. 

_What good will it do? Everyone seems to be set on ignoring my advice today. Unless it is advice they can use to their own advantage. Love at first sight for them, indeed…of all the ridiculous, childish nonsense…_ Círdan did not bother with a backward glance or farewells, for he knew Ilmarë and Elrond were too engaged to even notice his departure. 

Elrond noticed. Hearing the door latch click shut told him they were alone. His hand moved around to hold the back of her head as he used the weight of his body to bear her down onto the bed, the force of his kiss pressing her into the pillow. She welcomed the effort, even pulling him closer as he lay down next to her. 

Elrond’s hands left her hair and slowly traveled down her body, caressing as they went. He had missed her response to his touch, not realizing how much until he felt her body strain to meet the pressure of his hand. 

Ilmarë pushed away the folds of his robe because they prevented her from touching him. With the heavy fabric out of the way, she ran her hands along the broad line of his shoulders and down to his chest as he kissed her. Everywhere her hands wandered, his muscles tightened beneath his shirt and Ilmarë wanted to touch more than fabric. Suddenly she wanted…no, needed to touch his skin and hurried to open the top of his shirt, giving her hands access to his chest. The hair there surprised her, but the feel of it excited her further and she ran her fingers in circles over his skin. 

Her discovery surprised Elrond as well, and his breathing quickened as her fingers toyed with his chest hair. Such close quarters made it impossible to hide his body’s growing appreciation of her efforts. Elrond pulled his lips away from Ilmarë’s and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself; yet Ilmarë was not so easily deterred. 

Still driven by the need to feel his skin, Ilmarë brushed her cheek against his neck before kissing the skin and tasting it hesitantly with her tongue. With a moan, he tightened his arm around her, pulling Ilmarë against him. She moved her hand down his body, now curious to inspect the hard length pressing into her hip. 

Elrond captured her hand as it reached his waist. He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss on the back of it before letting his body drop back onto the bed where he lay on his back, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling with deep, calming breaths. 

“You have been ill; I should not tire you like this when you have only just recovered.” Although, judging by his tone, he regretted having to stop. 

“You did not tire me, Elrond; if anything I am more awake now.” His attentions left Ilmarë trying to catch her breath, but she still worried. “Then you are not mad at me for keeping the truth from you?” 

Elrond propped himself up on one elbow to look at her. “No, more pleasant thoughts than anger fill my mind now.” He let out a long breath and said, “I feared your being taken from me and the past days were long and dark because of it. To discover that will not happen is a wonder unlooked for and all the rest is of little importance to me by comparison.” His crooked grin appeared. “And to hear you say you love me…I could not stay angered after hearing you speak those words. I do not believe I could ever remain angry with you for long.” 

Assuming a more serious attitude, he used a finger beneath her chin to raise her face. “Well, then…even if this body can be replaced I would rather avoid having you leave me for any length of time. How do you feel? Do you feel ill in any way?” Elrond looked at her pointedly with a raised eyebrow. “Do you understand what I mean by that?” 

Ilmarë nodded. “I do now. I do not feel ill as I did before…in any way,” she added when he continued to look at her suspiciously. She assessed him carefully and said, “Yet my body now has certain aches which only you can attend to, seeing that you are the one who caused them.” 

Elrond raised his eyebrows and shifted uncomfortably as he looked away. “Ilmarë…I do not intend to sound rude…but we should call Haleth or Adanel up and let them draw you a bath and help you bathe. It would…” 

“Ahhh…” she breathed out loudly in irritation, “Ereinion…” She shook her head and sniffed inside her nightgown again. “I told him how awful this body smelled and he claimed was exaggerating. I knew it smelled foul…” 

“Ilmarë…Ereinion was right; you do exaggerate,” Elrond said with a laugh. “Foul is too strong a word, but you could do with a bath. And afterwards I will tend to whatever aches your body has for which I may provide some relief.” He ran his fingers along her cheek. “Before we call Haleth, I wish to discuss something with you. The decision we spoke of before…the decision I asked for time to consider? I have made it.” 

“Elrond, you should not do this now,” Ilmarë said and returned his frown. “I do not want you to make a decision clouded by your worry and fear during these past days.” 

“I made this decision out of love.” Elrond took a deep breath and said, “I do not wish to wait for marriage to become…intimate, but I do want to wait until we leave Lindon. I have given this a good deal of thought.”

He took Ilmarë’s hand and kept his eyes on her fingers as he toyed with them. “There are those among the Noldor who skirt around the laws and customs by…well, shall we say alternative methods of release. I want more than mere release with you. Yet, though I love you, we need more time to consider marriage – time I do not believe either of us is willing to wait.” 

“Elrond…you should not act against your beliefs.” 

“They are not my beliefs, Ilmarë. I told you I had never been in a position to choose. Now that I am, the Noldor belief does not sit well with me. The joining of bodies should not be taken lightly, but neither should it result in marriage. They are two different acts with two very different sets of consideration. The Sindarin beliefs suit me better.” He looked down again and resumed nervously stroking her fingers. “There is another Sindarin custom I would hold to as well. Some Sindar share a home outside of marriage; there are even those who remain so indefinitely, believing the marriage vows to be unnecessary. Not that I would wish to …” 

He cleared his throat and hesitated before he said, “I know when I take you to my bed I will not want you to leave it again, but to do that in Ereinion’s home seems disrespectful in my eyes. If we are to share a bed, we should do so in our own home, not someone else’s. It will only be a few months until we leave for Eregion and I thought, perhaps when we reached Ost-in-Edhil…well, perhaps you would share lodgings with me…what I mean is, share a home…” 

Ilmarë pulled her fingers from Elrond’s grasp to keep him from the nervous rubbing and squeezing, taking his hand and holding tight. “I will share a home with you in Eregion if that is what you wish. I see no reason why we should not. And I agree to postpone our intimacy until we leave Lindon - although do not expect me to be overly joyous during the interval. I do not foresee this as being a pleasant time for me.” 

“Nor will it for me,” Elrond answered, smiling happily at her agreement and moving toward her. “Yet the Noldor believe resisting temptation builds character.” 

Ilmarë raised an eyebrow as she watched Elrond lean closer. “And I say if one is capable of resisting temptation, it does not so much prove the strength of their will as it does the weakness of their desires.”

Elrond stopped moving and feigned shock. “Are you inferring the strength of my desire for you is lacking?” Ilmarë only raised an eyebrow and smirked, and he pulled her into his arms again. “Then you force me to prove your error in judgment.” 

She tried to squirm away and said, “Elrond, really…you should wait until after I have bathed. The smell cannot be pleasant…” 

Elrond held her tight and said, “You would have to smell far worse than this to dissuade me…” and he kissed her. 

After a few fleeting moments, Ilmarë abandoned her attempts to pull away, instead wrapping her arms around Elrond as he eased her back onto the bed and proved beyond any doubt the strength of his desire for her. 

 

~*~

 

NOTES: Again, I’m putting my own twist on the marriage customs. I’m portraying the Sindar to be a more Bohemian culture, still with permanent, monogamous marriages, but a little more laid-back about what goes on before hand. And the Noldor are the ones with the more rigid, uptight beliefs. All of this is merely for the purpose of my story. For more information about the possible marriage beliefs of the Eldar, see Laws and Customs of the Eldar in Morgoth’s Ring, History of Middle-earth, vol X. 

And I don’t know if Elrond had chest hair. He was part mortal, so it could happen. In Unfinished Tales, in the footnotes to the Line of Elros, it talks about Elrond and Elros’s spirits being what changed, or more specifically that Elros was given the ability to leave the world when he grew weary of it. In Sauron Defeated it says that Elrond also retained that grace of being able to change his mind later and choose the fate of Men if he grew weary of the world. I think Tolkien abandoned that idea, but it’s an interesting possibility to play around with.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 

 

Ereinion tipped his wine glass up for a long drink and then resumed gazing out the window of his study. In the yard below a breeze ran its fingers through the autumn-faded grass, the swaying blades painted golden by the brush of the late afternoon sun. Not even nature’s subtle flirtation, like the lazy seductive wink of a temptress, could capture Ereinion’s attention - unusual considering his normal appreciation for her enticements. His major concern of the moment was convincing himself it was not too early in the day to be drinking. His wooden stare did not falter when the knock came, not even to look toward the door as he called over his shoulder. 

“Go away. The king is not receiving any visitors today.”

The door opened and he heard someone enter the study. Ereinion leaned forward to rest his forehead against the cool glass pane. Only one person would ignore the king’s orders.

“Well then, I am thankful that does not apply to me.” 

After retrieving a glass from the wine cabinet, Círdan went directly to Ereinion’s desk and picked up the decanter of red wine sitting there. Ereinion turned away from the window and watched Círdan fill his own glass with the ruby liquid. 

“I believe most rules apply to everyone but you, Círdan.” 

“Drinking too early in the day can make you testy, Ereinion. You should know better.” 

“Yet you do not let that admonition stop you.” 

Círdan took the large leather chair behind the desk and turned it to face Ereinion before sitting down. He raised his glass and said, “Drinking alone can make you testy as well. Perhaps if I join you it will improve your mood.” 

When Ereinion turned back to the window without commenting, Círdan added, “Perhaps if you told Ilmarë the truth it would improve your mood.” 

“And what truth would that be?” Ereinion asked before taking another drink. 

“That you waited for her in these lands, not Elrond.” 

Ereinion hesitated briefly, then said, “You do not know that.” 

Círdan tapped his finger against the side of his wine glass as he studied his friend’s somber profile. “There is no point in attempting to mislead me, Ereinion. I have known you far too long. I saw you in the weeks before Ilmarë’s arrival – your anxious mood, the constant distraction. It was impossible to have a conversation with you; and Haleth complained to me on different occasions of your pacing and prowling around the house half the night. You told me of the dreams you were having before you stopped talking about them all together.” 

When Ereinion did not answer, Círdan continued. “And what of the messages you sent after her arrival? They began the morning after she arrived – before I even sent word she was in Lindon. You knew, and you were beside yourself to meet with her. Yet when the time came you sent Elrond in your place. That was your first mistake.” 

“Calling it my first mistake implies I have made others as well. And what else do you count among my numerous mistakes?” 

“Not telling Ilmarë of your love for her is the most glaring mistake you have made, in my opinion.” 

Ereinion forced himself not to flinch at the blow Círdan’s words delivered. He took another long drink of his wine before he answered. 

“I said nothing of being in love with her.” 

Círdan’s concern softened his tone. “Do you honestly believe you must speak of it? I saw it in your face the night she became ill, and you talked of little else as we waited for Elrond to bring her downstairs.” He took a long sip of his drink and shook his head as he swallowed. Now he just sounded exasperated. “It has been many years since I thought of you and Elrond as youths, but I must say, you are both behaving like children now. I am disappointed in the both of you, and the decisions you seem intent on making.” 

The corner of Ereinion’s mouth lifted in a smirk. “That we do not need you to school us in such matters any more is what upsets you, and you are annoyed because we do not follow your counsel without question.” Ereinion could feel Círdan’s glare and it made him smile. But the smile faded and he said, “I have already made my decision in this matter and Elrond is very wise. He is capable of making his own decisions as well.” 

“One cannot truly be in love and retain any sense of wisdom. That is the nature of the condition,” Círdan said with a shrug of his shoulder. “Why do you suppose there are so many tales of all the foolish deeds people do in the name of that emotion? And the stronger the love, the greater the folly.” He shook his finger in Ereinion’s direction and said, “That is how I know you are truly in love with Ilmarë – because I have never seen you show such poor judgment before.” 

Ereinion looked down into his glass to avoid meeting Círdan’s perceptive gaze. “No, Círdan…this is the best decision for all involved. Elrond is my friend…he is dear to me, and if I must make this sacrifice for him then I will do so. I do not expect you to understand…” and for the second time that afternoon, Ereinion regretted his words when he saw their effect. 

Círdan stood from his chair and sat his glass on the desk, then marched to the window. Finally Ereinion forced himself to turn around and meet the anger in his friend’s eyes. 

“I understand sacrifice. I look to the past and I see the years of it behind me like a spreading wake. I look to the future and I see the years awaiting me, like an endless horizon on the sea.” Círdan gave an expansive wave of his hand and he shook his head. “My family has gone, one by one. They now await me in lands I have longed to see for years – so many they are beyond my reckoning, but my sacrifice is to remain here in Middle-earth. I freely give it to those who asked it of me for I know there are reasons...yet I paid a price.” 

Ereinion turned away and looked out the window again. He well knew what Círdan was saying to him and did not wish to think on it at this moment, but Círdan was nothing if not persistent. 

“I allowed the weight of my sacrifice to burden me; to cause me sorrow. I accepted the sacrifice, but not the pain that came with it. It was many long, dark years before I came to realize I only added to my unhappiness. But you know all this, for I shared that understanding with you when you came to live with me.” Círdan stood close behind Ereinion and looked out the window as well. “I remember the frightened youth standing on the shore, watching my ship arrive to take him to his new home. I had but to look at your face to know already your grief made you weary of life. You had seen your home destroyed, your family killed…you were little more than a child yet already a king.”

Círdan sighed and rested a comforting hand on Ereinion’s shoulder. “More than 1600 years ago you came to me, and I shared my hard-bought understanding with you. You have lived by it all these years, although now you seem to have forgotten what I taught you.” 

Ereinion bowed his head and said, “It is not so much that I have forgotten the lesson, Círdan; I have found it difficult to hold to recently.” He closed his eyes. As Círdan began to talk, Ereinion felt as he had when the words were first spoken to him – as an inexperienced child compared to the ancient wisdom beneath Círdan’s jovial and light-hearted manner. 

“We all face unhappiness at some point, Ereinion; it matters not if it is caused by the loss of a loved one or something so mundane as tearing a favored shirt – it is only different levels of the same thing,” Cirdan said and gave Ereinion’s shoulder a squeeze. “Unhappiness always presents itself in one form or another; it is no great task to find it.” 

Círdan looked at Ereinion and said, “But happiness – now that involves work. Unhappiness must be pushed away, and happiness found and invited in. This world holds so much beauty and joy; we need only look for it. Deal with the unhappiness; do what must be done to get past it, and do what can be done to ensure it does not return – yet once you are beyond the unhappiness, leave it behind. Find the beauty again and leave the regrets and sadness in the past, where they belong. They are of no use to anyone. ’ 

Círdan removed his hand from Ereinion’s shoulder and sat down in the leather chair again, picking up his wine glass as he did. He wished to give Ereinion a few moments to take in what had been said before he continued. 

“Do not make a sacrifice unless you can bear the pain that comes with it.” Círdan paused to take a long drink and when Ereinion remained silent, he added, “For we Elves this is especially important. Our lives last a very long time, and if you allow the weight of your unhappiness to consume you, you will become harping and judgmental – like your newly arrived houseguests, those obnoxious Elven lords from Harlindon.” Círdan did not bother to hide the shudder or the grimace brought on by the thought of those visitors. “Or even worse, you will become sad and defeated – like….” 

“Like Elrond,” Ereinion finished for him when Círdan fell silent. “But you hesitate to say his name because Ilmarë changed that in him. He is happy now and no longer seems sad and lonely…” 

“No, he does not,” Círdan said, exasperated again. “You do. You have taken to being somber and morose all the time. Although I must say, you do a far better job of it than Elrond did. He could be cheerful and pleasant from time to time…that is more than I can say of you these past months.” 

“I am better suited to accept this burden than Elrond. I have faced greater defeats than this and put them behind me. Given enough time, I will overcome this defeat as well.” 

“Will you?” mused Círdan. “I am not so certain of that. Nor am I certain Elrond would be as crushed as you imagine. He has also faced many things and he is a good deal stronger than you give him credit for. Ereinion…” Círdan waited for Ereinion to look up at him and then said, “You are not required to take on responsibility for everyone, my friend. You are an admirable king, yet there are times when you must remember you are just a man as well.” 

Ereinion turned his head away and Círdan at last noticed how close to tears his friend was. Rising again from the chair, he took the wine decanter from the desk and refilled Ereinion’s glass as well as his own. 

“No more of this sort of talk. Come and sit with me, and I will find a more pleasant topic of conversation.” 

Ereinion followed Círdan to the couch and they sat. Círdan placed the wine decanter on the table in front of the couch and then raised his feet to place them on the table as well. He leaned back into the cushions and let out a deep sigh. 

‘I would not let Haleth catch you doing that,’ Ereinion said, nodding at Cirdan’s feet. ‘You will only be bringing unhappiness upon yourself.’ The thought of how Haleth would upbraid Círdan for putting his feet on the table brought a smile to Ereinion’s face. 

Cirdan frowned and snorted, but when Ereinion looked away to take another drink, he quickly lifted his feet and glanced at the table to make certain no dirt had collected. By the time Ereinion lowered his glass, Círdan had his eyes on the fire burning in the hearth. They both sat in silence, staring at the flames, until Círdan’s laugh drew Ereinion’s attention. 

“Ever since my earlier mention of Aldarion, memories have been flying through my head like a flock of gulls at low tide.” Cirdan smiled as he turned toward Ereinion. “Do you remember the time Aldarion convinced us to sail with him to Vinyalondë?’

Círdan’s eager question caused Ereinion to choke in mid-drink. He caught his breath and said, “I do not recall ‘us’ having to be convinced, - I recall ‘me’ having to be convinced. And it was not only Aldarion who worked to convince me.” 

“Well, yes, if you have to be specific about it; I suppose that is what happened,” Cirdan said with a long-suffering sigh. “But you were being very difficult. And the trip proved to you that Lindon would not fall apart without your direct presence.” The memory brought a dreamy smile to Círdan’s face. “Oh, but I did enjoy Vinyalondë. Mortal mariners are so boisterous and uninhibited.” He raised an eyebrow and added, “And so are mortal women if I remember correctly.” 

Ereinion could not help but laugh at that. “I suppose you are referring to the red-haired woman you focused your attention on during the entire visit. And after spending the journey there ensuring me our only purpose was to inspect the Númenórean haven.” Ereinion shook his head and said, “I do not believe all mortal women are like that, Cirdan.” 

“No, I suppose they are not. I was surprised she paid any attention to me at all, considering your behavior.”

“My behavior?” Ereinion repeated in disbelief. “I did not realize your memory was so poor. Sometimes I forget how old you are, Círdan. I was the one who warned you not to listen to Aldarion.” 

“That you did, but even in my present decrepit state I seem to recall your warnings were earlier in the evening, well before you drank more than a few bottles of wine. Apparently you changed your mind by the time we reached the water, considering you were the first to shed your clothes.” 

Ereinion began to speak but stopped and thought for a moment, then gave his own long-suffering sigh. “Well, yes…if you have to be specific about it.” 

Círdan laughed heartily and bantered the memory back and forth with Ereinion until they at last reached the point where the mariners patrolling the harbor arrived and found them. The guards’ interrogation had been very threatening – until discovering Aldarion led the group, who was not only their Captain but heir to the throne of Númenor as well. Ereinion laughed uncontrollably by that time, and Cirdan held his own laughter briefly, long enough to take a breath and pose a musing thought. 

“I always wondered if word ever got back to Númenor of Aldarion almost being hauled out of the Gwalthó River by his own men for swimming nude with women and Elves. And those Elves being the Noldorin King and the Lord of Lindon, no less. That episode might have cast a different light on our respected standing in the Elven community.”

‘Well I, for one, am very glad the story never made it back to Lindon,’ Ereinion said, shaking his head and still laughing. ‘Now that I think on it, Aldarion could have chosen a more remote spot.’ 

‘That he could,’ Cirdan agreed. 

As his laughter tapered off, Ereinion noted that for the first time in many weeks his pensive mood had lightened and he felt more like himself again. He looked at Círdan, who was still laughing and wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes. Círdan’s guidance sometimes seemed more like interfering, but Ereinion was always grateful for his friend’s concern. 

‘Thank you, Círdan,’ Ereinion said with a nod. 

Círdan clearly understood, for he simply replied, ‘You are welcome, my friend.’ He sighed and sat his glass on the table. “As much as I would like to stay, I have been away from home for several days now and I must return.” 

Ereinion stood when Círdan did and asked, “Will you be back tomorrow evening for the dinner party?” 

“Of course. You do not think I would let you stray into that den of wolves alone, do you?” 

“I will not be alone, Ereinion; Elrond will be there and he is adept at dealing with our unpleasant Noldorin guests as well.” Ereinion walked with Círdan toward the door. 

“Yes, he is; yet Elrond will either remain upstairs with Ilmarë if she is not well enough to attend, or he will be distracted by her presence all evening. Either way, I doubt he will be of much help tomorrow evening.” 

“Hmmm…yes, we will see,” Ereinion said, distracted himself now and apparently considering something. “Círdan, wait just a moment…I have a message for you to take back to Harlond. Have one of your men deliver it after you reach home.” 

“All right.” Círdan watched curiously as Ereinion returned to his desk and withdrew a piece of parchment from the drawer. Ereinion wrote the short note quickly, folded and sealed it, addressed it, then returned to hand the message over to Círdan. 

Círdan looked at the name on the front and frowned. “I see my talk with you was of no use. You intend on continuing down this path and it will lead to more sorrow. Not only for you, but for Elrond and Ilmarë as well before this farce has been played to its end. I expected you to make a wiser decision than this, Ereinion.” 

“It is my decision to make, and this is what I will do. In order to be rid of these feelings I have for Ilmarë, I must resume my life as it was before she came. There is no other way, Círdan.” 

“There is another way, but you are either too foolish or too cowardly to take it, and I would never have believed you capable of either failing,” Círdan snapped at him, his patience abandoning him at last. “You will not be rid of love. Though you seek to lock it away, it will continue to grow. But it will grow as all things do when they are removed from the light and hidden in the dark – twisted and unhealthy. Yet I forget, you are no ordinary man like the rest of us; you are a king and kings will see their commands carried out.” 

Círdan glared at Ereinion before stuffing the folded paper into the pocket of his robe and jerking open the door. “Who am I to question your decisions? Some doddering old Elf who took you in and raised you, who provided you lands for the kingship you inherited…” 

“Who may as well have given birth to me, for all the motherly nagging you do.” Ereinion smiled as he leaned against the door and watched Círdan storm through. “I do appreciate your concern, Círdan…smothering though it may be at times, I know it is always well meant. Will you arrive early tomorrow evening? I would like for you to be here well before the guests have all arrived.” 

“As you command, my King,” Círdan returned testily and started down the hallway. 

“Have a safe trip, Círdan…and thank you.” 

Círdan did not look back, but raised his hand in a dismissive wave before disappearing down the stairwell and heading back to the second floor. Ereinion frowned, thinking of Círdan’s warning. 

His convictions are firmer than mine. What if I am wrong? He thought of Ilmarë and Elrond and their happiness together and decided he was not wrong. Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, Ereinion closed the study door behind him and walked toward his bedroom. It was time to ready himself for the evening’s plans before he thought better of it and changed his mind. 

 

~*~

 

 

 

NOTES: 

Tar-Aldarion was the sixth king of Númenor – He was born in the year 700 and died in the year 1098 of the First Age. So Círdan and Ereinion knew Aldarion during the years he was sailing from Númenor to Midde-earth, and his last voyage was made near the end of the first millennium of the Second Age. 

The chapter above is taking place about December of 1587 or so, Second Age. Ilmare arrived in Lindon about the end of September, stayed with Círdan until mid-November and has been sick and unconscious for about a month. That would make Ereinion and Cirdan's trip to Vinyalonde about 750 years previous. 

Vinyalonde was the Numenorean haven originally built by Aldarion at the mouth of the Gwaltho in Southern Middle-earth, south of Tharbad. Vinyalonde was also known as Lond Daer. It later fell into disrepair but was important for the defeat of Sauron later in the Second Age. 

Ereinion came to live with Círdan, though when it was depends on whose son you believe he is. I think he’s Orodreth’s son, so that would mean he came to live with Círdan after the fall of Nargothrond, one of the hidden cities of Beleriand in the First Age. I don’t know if Círdan gave Ereinion the lands of Lindon or not, but Círdan had always ruled lands near the sea and had many Elves who followed him. After Ereinion arrived, Círdan seems to have stepped aside and let Ereinion rule the new lands near the sea as king, and later as the High Elven King of the Noldor.


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, all chapters written in italics like this one are Ilmars dreams, sent by Melian. The time frame of this dream is just after the War of Wrath up through the first 400-500 years of the Second Age.

Chapter 16 

 

_Ilmarë hurried through the clouds obscuring the peak of Taniquetil. She broke through their layer of white stillness and paused to smile as she breathed in the clear blue air known as Ilwë – the air that flowed between the stars and surrounded the summit of Taniquetil in endless night. The snow beneath Ilmarë’s feet now glowed with the reflected lights of Varda. The stars hung so close here, it seemed if she reached out far enough she could capture one in her hand. The blanketing peace she found there in the blue of Ilwë was far removed…far from the destruction she had just witnessed. For a moment the thoughts of battle fled Ilmarë’s mind, chased away by the comfort of home._

_Home…Ilmarë shook her head at the thought. This had not been home for so many years, this massive house of blue and white marble sheltered beneath the roof of Ilwë. She walked up the path of silver sand and scattered jewels but she did not follow it to the tall glittering front doors. Ilmarë left the path before it reached the house. Her feet took her toward the tall watchtower next to the mansion and after passing the threshold, they took her up the blue marble stairs leading to the topmost room. She hastened up those stairs and when she reached the doorway at the top she halted, resting her hand against the white marble wall as she studied the room’s lone occupant._

_A great throne rose before a wide, doorless opening and upon the throne sat a great man in robes of sapphire blue. He raised his head toward the opening in the wall and stared off into the distance with eyes gray as a rising storm…_

_“It is over then.”_

_A wearied sadness overshadowed the power in his voice and Ilmarë knew he grieved. His decision of war had not been an easy one and her spirit grieved with him._

_“Yes, Manwë, it is over,” she said._

_“And your avoidance of me…” he said, still looking out into the endless night, “…that has ended as well?”_

_“It has,” she said, her voice echoing in the vast stillness of the room._

_Ilmarë saw his head lower slightly and to know she had given him some comfort offered her some as well._

_“Sit with me, Erinti,” he said, holding out his hand, “I want you near. You have been away for too long.”_

_The thought of entering that room frightened Ilmarë, such that she almost fled. But she could not. She walked noiselessly across the marble floor and a silver chair appeared on the steps beneath his high throne. When she took her seat, her head sat level with his knees and she felt the urge to rest her head upon them as she had before in years long past. He seemed to expect her to do just that and Ilmarë sensed his disappointment when she did not._

_“Where is Eönwë? Why have you returned before him?” he asked, studying her closely as though searching for something._

_“Sorontur brought me… I wished to return before the others. Eönwë follows with Tulkas and Oromë. They bring Morgoth that he may stand before the Council for his final judgment.”_

_“You know what will be done with him and those who followed him?” Manwë asked._

_“I know,” Ilmarë said in a voice as grave as her mood._

_“There will be some offered pardon…those whose spirits are not fully corrupted, yet they must sit in judgment that the Council may decide.”_

_Ilmarë did not answer. She searched for a way to tell him why she had come._

_“Will you show me what happened, Erinti?” his said suddenly. “I could not see through the distance and the Shadow of Morgoth, not without Varda beside me. She and Eönwë will show me when they return, but I would like to see it first through you.”_

_His question startled her; she forgot her fear and looked up at him. When last she looked into his eyes, condemnation filled them and the gray was darkened with anger. Now she saw only patience and understanding…and the slightest trace of fear. Manwë worried she would deny him and Ilmarë was shocked. She nodded and bowed her head, closing her eyes as she did._

_Manwë hesitated a moment before resting his mighty hand upon Ilmarë’s head. A soft smile appeared and he ran his hand along her hair, which he noted with pride was as black as his own. He brought his hand back up and rested it gently on her head again as he closed his own eyes._

_He frowned when Ilmarë’s memories showed themselves. He saw what remained of the lands of Beleriand - he had not imagined the destruction would be so great. Death hung like a pall over the ruined lands and everywhere bodies and debris layered the ground. The host of Valinor had claimed their victory over Morgoth, but at what price, Manwë thought…at what terrible price._

_The images came rapid and blurred in Ilmarë’s haste to be done with them. The scent of charred flesh heralding the death of the Balrogs…braying in agony as Aulë’s powerful flame combined with their own and charred Morgoth’s servants alive. Tears streamed down Aulë’s face as they died …they had been his servants once…they had been Ainur…his brethren…Manwë’s brethren…_

_Eärendil leapt from his ship of bright stars and onto a large black dragon, cleaving the beast with mighty blows until it fell dead. Manwë saw the surprise of the Ainur when the dragons were unleashed, an army kept hidden by Morgoth until the very last. Some flew, some crawled along the ground, some breathed fire and some did not, but all met the same fate in the end…pain and death._

_Makar and Meássë on the battlefield… her arms and hands stained red with blood and his sword ringing as he hewed any who stood before him. Manwë had not known the reclusive Valar to leave their Iron Fortress in the Outer Lands of Valinor since Morgoth’s first defeat. He was glad to see they had joined their brethren to defeat Morgoth a final time._

_Leading the host was Eönwë, the winds he commanded leveling what few enemies were quick enough to escape the stroke of his great sword. Above the battlefield, Tulkas and Oromë tore apart the mountain of Thangorodrim with their bare hands and rent Angband asunder, at last pulling Morgoth’s dark form from the bowels of the mountain fortress._

_A final image flashed – a woman flying in the guise of a bat, slashing with claws and fanged teeth, then screaming in long wails as bolts of lightning struck her, leaving nothing but ash and a feeling of grim satisfaction…_

_Manwë removed his hand and opened his eyes as he said, “Explain what I have seen, Erinti.”_

_Ilmarë heard a touch of the anger she remembered and it was easier to steel herself against than his sorrow. “The creature was called Thuringwethil,” she said, now sitting straight and squaring her shoulders, “a servant of Morgoth. I destroyed her and Námo collected her spirit, as he did all the others.”_

_“You know that is not the explanation I desired. One does not kill for enjoyment. It is wrong,” he said and his words were laced with the lecturing tone she knew so well._

_“I killed out of necessity but I will not lie and say I did not find some enjoyment in it. The creature tried to attack me and I was glad to see it destroyed. I was glad it was destroyed by my own hands,” Ilmarë said. She would never admit her anger toward the creature had been fueled by the years the thing had spent with Rušurayan, even if only as a servant. They were still years Ilmarë had been separated from him and the thought of the beast having accompanied him during those years enraged her._

_Though disappointed in her answer, Manwë did not press the matter. Instead he said, “Tell me what it is you have come for, Erinti. I thought you had come to see me but it is now clear that there are other reasons.”_

_Ilmarë now realized how selfish her reasons were in comparison to Manwë’s pain. She looked away as she said, “I came to request something of you, although now… to be near you again gives me cause to realize how sorely missed your presence has been.”_

_“And what is your request?” His face remained calm and impassive, like a mountain towering over the plains._

_Ilmarë turned her face up to Manwë and said, “I come to ask for pardon. You are the only one who can grant it.”_

_He looked into her eyes and his impassive countenance softened, as the gentle flow of the stream patiently carving its way down the granite of the mountain. “There is no need of this. I forgave you long ago and have awaited your forgiveness in return.”_

_“I do not ask pardon for myself - I ask it for another.”_

_Manwë’ s features hardened and grew stern; the water’s flow diverted and swallowed up by the impassive mountain once more. “You dare to come here and request pardon for him? I had hoped your years alone would teach you wisdom.”_

_“My years alone are why I ask. Will you not hear the request before you pass judgment?” Ilmarë laid her hand on his knee and as she waited._

_Manwë examined her and frowned, but said, “Speak.”_

_Ilmarë told him all she had done: her journey to see Rušurayan, the chance she had offered him, and what Rušurayan had done and said. She excluded the more intimate details and that Sorontur had been the one to take her. When she finished Manwë turned his impassive gaze to the star-dusted night once more, time creeping slowly by as he pondered her words._

_When Ilmarë could wait no more, she said, “We have all made mistakes…he has…I have…you have, and we all hope to be offered forgiveness. Is it not right, then, to give it as well when the chance has been earned? Ossë served Morgoth for a time, yet he was forgiven and allowed to return.”_

_“Ossë’s crimes do not compare to Rušurayan’s…Sauron’s, for that is what they call him. The Cruel, the Destroyer, The Sorcerer, The Lord of the Gloaming…” Manwë’s voice shook the columns of the windowless wall as the mountain of his countenance collapsed in the explosion of anger he could not longer contain._

_“Please, stop…” Ilmarë said, her voice rising above the roar, “…he was deceived, misled. He regrets his wrongs and now wishes to return and repent.”_

_Manwë fell silent again and Ilmarë’s tears ran in clear streams, wetting her cheeks and filling her with shame and self-disgust, yet Manwë’s face softened to see her tears. Ilmarë then realized she would not gain his agreement by arguing with him. As much as she disliked doing so, other avenues would have to be taken._

_“I have lived in pain and loneliness since his departure. I do not show it to others because I do not want their pity, but I suffer without him. You know I can take no other among the Ainur as spouse. I will remain alone. You have the power to set things aright.” Ilmarë said, letting the tears roll down her face and resting her head upon his knees. “Will you not end my suffering…Father?”_

_Manwë allowed his tears to flow freely as well to see the show of affection he had missed so dearly, to hear her speak openly of her pain…and to hear her at last acknowledge him…_

_“It is cruel of you to use that name to sway me in my decision,” Manwë said at last, though despite the words, his voice bore no sign of its former disapproval, “ yet it also shows how desperately you want this, that you would overcome your anger with me and call me that. Is it so hard then, to forgive me? Rušurayan has committed worse wrongs and you ask me to forgive him.”_

_“No, I ask for pardon, to allow him the chance to earn forgiveness,” Ilmarë said, quick to deny the idea but her tone lessened when Manwë ran his hand along her hair again._

_“And to earn your forgiveness I must pardon the one you love, against my wishes.”_

_“You said those whose spirits had not been corrupted would be offered pardons,” Ilmarë replied. “There is still good in him – ask Mother if my word is not enough. She will see it. You and Eönwë seek to punish him for what he has done to me. Yet if you exile him, you will bring me even greater hurt.”_

_Manwë looked thoughtfully at Ilmarë’s dark head resting on his knees, her face turned to study the sky beyond the doorway. Though she did not choose it intentionally, her form resembled his - a reflection of her spirit, as was his. Just as Eönwë’s chosen forms ever bore a resemblance to Varda’s, whether by his doing or no._

_A connection existed between Ilmarë’s spirit and his; Manwë had felt her pain these many years and he felt it now. Though she rarely allowed her unhappiness to be known by the others in Valinor, Manwë knew of it…he knew she suffered._

_“You were untruthful when you said you would not be parted from me again. If I deny this pardon to Rušurayan you will leave Valinor and go to him… you will share his exile,” he said softly and Ilmarë shifted her face against his knee, but did not deny his words. Manwë made his decision, though it rested heavy on his heart. “In order for him to return, you must leave Eressëa and return to live here with us. Rušurayan will be brought before the Council and if some good remains in him, he will be granted pardon.”_

_Ilmarë raised her head and looked at him with doubt. “But Eönwë and Tulkas, they…”_

_“It will not be their decision,” Manwë said firmly, “it will be mine and I give my word it will be a fair decision. If you are correct about him, he will be given pardon and allowed to return. Yet there will be punishment for him and the Council will set that. When he returns he will stay here as well, with us. I want him under my watch until I am assured he is no threat.”_

_Ilmarë took Manwë’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you…I am right about Rušurayan, you will see. Thank you for your wisdom and your just decision. I will leave immediately to find him and bring him before you.”_

_Manwë smiled at her gushing thanks, but when Ilmarë spoke of leaving he frowned and shook his head. “No, Erinti, you will not go. Eönwë will go to him and offer this pardon. I will speak to Eönwë and he will be fair,” Manwë added, seeing her distress at the idea. “You know your brother will not disobey me. I will not risk you being alone with Rušurayan again until I have seen for myself what his spirit holds.”_

_The idea did not sit well with Ilmarë, but she would not argue with Manwë when he had been so kind. She rested her head on his knees again and sighed._

_“If you think it best, I will bow to your wisdom…Father.”_

_Ilmarë smiled to say the name and Manwë smiled to hear it. He resumed stroking her hair, hoping to give her comfort as they waited for Oromë and Tulkas to return with Morgoth. Then Manwë would do what must be done._

_And so he did. Morgoth’s form was executed and his spirit and the corrupted spirits of those who served him were cast into the Void. The ruined lands of Beleriand sank beneath the sea and the western coasts of Middle-earth were reshaped. Eönwë followed Manwë’s orders, although grudgingly and under protest, and took the offer of pardon to Sauron. Eönwë stayed long in Middle-earth. He carried pardons for many, as well as choices for some. The day came at last when Sorontur and his eagles left for Middle-earth to bring Eönwë and his helpers back to Valinor._

_Outside the home on the summit of Taniquetil Varda sat upon a large bench of smooth marble; she watched Ilmarë’s form move easily back and forth across the snow as she paced, stopping every so often to check the sky._

_“Ilmarë, come and sit,” Varda said, patting the bench next to her. “I promise you, their arrival will not be delayed if you sit and talk with me.”_

_With a last look at the sky, Ilmarë walked to the bench and sat. “Will the Council convene immediately to judge him? What if Father decides against a pardon?”_

_Varda rested a long, graceful arm around Ilmarë’s shoulders and the ease with which Ilmarë now used Manwë’s name pleased her. “Your father will be fair and I have no doubt a pardon will be offered to Rušurayan. If good did not remain in him, you would not love him. I trust your judgment.” She kissed the top of Ilmarë’s head and looked toward the sky, pointing as she said, “Ilmarë…they are here.”_

_They both stood and watched the eagles fly toward the mountaintop. Sorontur landed on the plain next to the house and Eönwë slid from his back and onto the ground. Ilmarë watched with confusion as the other eagles continued flying toward Valmar and their homes. She moved away from Varda and ran to Eönwë._

_“Where is Rušurayan?” Ilmarë asked him, frowning. “Why does the eagle carrying him not stop here? They cannot take him to stand before the Council alone.”_

_Dread ran through Ilmarë’s spirit when Eönwë would not meet her eyes. A dark, pained frown marred his face; he looked toward Manwë’s watchtower, he looked to Varda with wide, worried eyes, but he would not look toward Ilmarë. She moved around him, thinking perhaps Rušurayan had ridden on Sorontur also and still waited, but Sorontur stood alone. The eagle met her gaze, watching her closely with pity in his golden eyes._

_Ilmarë turned back to see Eönwë and Varda locked in a silent exchange. Varda’s breath caught and she broke away from Eönwë’s gaze to hurry toward Ilmarë. Ilmarë held up a hand, signaling Varda to stop, and her voice shook with fear and anger when she turned on Eönwë._

_“Tell me now what has happened. What have you done?” Ilmarë demanded, and when Eönwë did not answer immediately, she moved toward the eagle. “Sorontur will take me to Middle-earth. He will take me to Rušurayan and I will find out for myself.”_

_“It will do you no good. Rušurayan is gone…disappeared.” Eönwë said, his weary voice stopping Ilmarë. “He would not accept the pardon. He did not have the courage to face what awaited him here in Valinor and he chose to stay in Middle-earth. He wanted me to deliver a message that you were not to follow him…”_

_“No… you lie,” she said, scarcely able to breathe, yet even as she accused him, she knew Eönwë would not lie to her. “You caused this, Eönwë…you did not want him to return and you convinced him not to somehow. He would not do this…he would not abandon me again…” Her voice tapered off as she thought of her uncertainty about Rušurayan’s behavior. Now she knew why…he used her to escape the Void and now did not want her._

_“Ilmarë…” Eönwë was saying, “it is for the best. You will see…now you will be able to put him behind you and go on…”_

_Ilmarë saw the pity in Varda’s eyes and the worried way she watched her daughter._

_And so she ran. She ran from Eönwë, Varda, Manwë, Valinor, the pity, the anger, the false hopes, and the pain…though the pain kept pace with her as she fled to Alqualondë._

_Linquendil had come to Valinor that morning and was making preparations to leave the harbor just as she arrived. Ilmarë was thankful for that one small grace. When she asked him to take her to Eressëa, he did not question but instead left immediately. They were well out to sea before her tears overwhelmed her and that was another small grace to be thankful for. Linquendil remained in his cabin with Ilmarë for the journey and comforted her as she cried._

_The centuries came and went and Ilmarë kept to herself on Eressëa. Melian and Eönwë returned to the island as well and Varda resumed her frequent visits. Ilmarë spoke to no one of Rušurayan and after a time, they all ceased any attempt to make her. Though she tried to keep her pain hidden, those close to her saw the changes; her spirit seemed lessened and dimmed – even empty. She kept her word and returned to visit Manwë often. He worried and watched, but he did not speak of her suffering. Most times, they did not speak of anything at all, only sat among the stars in companionable silence, her head resting against his knee._

_More than four centuries passed in this manner until the day Melian went to Valinor and did not return for some time. Though Ilmarë missed her, she did not worry for she knew Melian would return._

_Upon an afternoon of no particular importance, Ilmarë lay in one of the beds of lissuin surrounding her home and thinking of happier times with Rušurayan. Memories were all she had and all she would ever have, and she had reached a certain acceptance of that. Unexpectedly, someone came between Ilmarë and the warming beams of Arien. Thinking it was Eönwë, Ilmarë turned to complain and was taken aback to see a silver-haired Elf of exceptional height towering over her flowerbed._

_“I was told flowers of remarkable beauty grew on Tol Eressëa, but still I am amazed to witness it for myself,” the Elf said and his smile more than compensated for the loss of the sun’s rays._

_“I thought you were my brother,” Ilmarë told him, “for your presence seemed more akin to that of a Maia. I did not expect to find a mere Elf standing over me.”_

_“I assure you, my dear, I am no mere Elf,” he said and winked. When Ilmarë started to rise, he shook his head. “No, do not get up. If you have no objections, I would prefer to join you.”_

_He lay down in the flowers, crushing some as he did and releasing their scent. Ilmarë turned to study him as he folded his hands across his chest._

_“There are times when introductions are unnecessary and I would count this to be among them, Ilmarë,” he said, his eyes wandering over the white clouds in the sky._

_“I agree with you, Thingol. From what I understand there are none who could be mistaken for you.” Ilmarë smiled and joined him in his inspection of the sky._

_“Nor you,” he said distractedly. She heard him sigh and say, “I did not see the sky for more than 400 years. Most would think that is not so long a time for one who will live to see the end of this world, but they would be wrong. Time crawls by in the Halls of Mandos when one has nothing to do but think and reflect upon losses and past wrongs.” He cleared his throat and added, “Thank you for keeping Melian with you during my absence. I am grateful to know she was not lonely.”_

_“No thanks are needed, Thingol,” Ilmarë said, offering him a smile, “and I am comforted to know she has been with you while she was away all this time. Where is she now?”_

_“Inside the house with a crowd of my kin, whom I can never seem to be shed of. They seem to think my return is some cause for celebration.”_

_“Indeed,” Ilmarë said, once again studying the sky._

_“Yes…indeed,” Thingol returned in the same dry tone, but Ilmarë knew he smiled._

_Later that day an abundance of silver-haired Elves populated Ilmarë’s home – with some pale-haired and dark-haired Elves thrown into the mix for variation, Thingol said. Regardless of hair color, all were overjoyed at Thingol’s return and highly impressed with his newfound peace of mind, particularly considering the loss of his daughter. Although, they noted, he was still strongly opinionated. That had not changed nor had his outspokenness of those opinions._

_Many raised toasts on his behalf as his release from Mandos was celebrated with song and drink. It was late into the night before the guests began to take their leave. Last to leave were Thingol’s brothers, Olwë, Elmo and Belwë, and their families._

_After they had gone Ilmarë sat in the great room of the house, one with many windows and doors opening toward the sea. She smiled to see the devotion between Thingol and Melian as they sat together on a nearby sofa. All evening long they had not been separated and Ilmarë suddenly felt like an intruder. She prepared to say her good-nights when Thingol spoke._

_“Why do you not find another among the Ainur, Ilmarë?” he asked and she looked up to find him regarding her with concern. “It is not good for you to be alone this way.”_

_Melian frowned at Thingol but Ilmarë shrugged and said, “I have been alone for years and am accustomed to it. Once two Ainur have shared their spirits, they cannot take another - it is not allowed.”_

_“But you were not married,” Thingol said with a shrug, “that leaves you free to choose a spouse from among the Elves. You would be breaking no laws or customs.”_

_“No, but it is not something undertaken without permission from the Valar,” Ilmarë said._

_“That does not mean it cannot be done. You have good reason for your petition,” Thingol said, clearly pleased with himself for solving the problem._

_“There is more to it than just receiving permission,” Melian said and looked at Thingol as though he were daft. “Ilmarë must find someone she loves. She cannot just choose an Elf at random simply because she does not wish to be alone.”_

_“I did not suggest choosing an Elf at random, my dear. On the contrary, he would have to be chosen very carefully. Preferably one bearing relation to me.” Thingol stopped and thought on it for a moment, then said, “I have no family here who are not already wed. The only ones still remain in Middle-earth. Círdan is a likely choice and Belwë would be most pleased to have his son come to Aman at last. Elrond is another, and from what I understand he has grown to be a fine young man. Still, it is a pity there are no kings.” Thingol grinned at Ilmarë and said, “I am certain Melian will tell you there is something to be said for the company of Elven kings.”_

_“There is Orodreth’s son, Gil-galad. He is the High Elven King now,” Melian said._

_Thingol grimaced. “He is Noldor. I see it on your face, Melian, you will say he is half Sindarin, yet the Noldor half is the one he has chosen.”_

_Melian let out an aggravated groan and said, “I had hoped your stay in Mandos would have rid you of your prejudices, but now I see not even several hundred years in the pits of Angband could overcome your hard-headedness. Celeborn’s wife is Noldor and you had no difficulty trusting her.”_

_“Galadriel’s blood may be more Noldor, but she has chosen her Sindarin blood. She lives as a Sinda and I consider her to be a Sinda. Although to be honest, I never fully trusted her. Celeborn, on the other hand, I would trust with my life.” While many people off-handedly gave that statement at times, when Thingol spoke it one could not doubt he did not offer that trust lightly._

_“Thingol, dear, you met Gil-galad once and you had no complaints about him,” Melian reminded her husband._

_“I met him, did I?” he said, pondering this for a moment and then nodded. “Yes…so I did. He came to us for help, he and his guards – when Nargothrond was destroyed – and we sent him to Círdan. He did not have much of a Noldor look about him. Vanyar, perhaps, with that blond hair. Did he remain with Círdan?”_

_“To the best of my knowledge,” Melian said._

_“Well, then…he might be well suited after all,” Thingol mused. “Of course, if he is king it could be several hundred years before he left Middle-earth, but would that time not pass quickly for a Maia?”_

_“Time passes the same for a Maia as it does for any other being,” Ilmarë said, her quiet voice interrupting their matchmaking conversation. They turned to find her looking out toward the sea again with a sad expression. “The days pass quickly when we are happy, but when we are sad the minutes stretch out into years and the days into centuries. Time always passes slowly for those who are unhappy.” She shook her head and softly said, “There will be no other for me, be they Elven kings or Elven stable hands. I will remain alone and that you must accept, as I have.”_

_Ilmarë stood and walked over to the sofa. “Thank you both for your concern, but I must retire for the evening now. I am weary and would allow the two of you some time alone,” she said, giving Melian and Thingol each a kiss on the forehead before wishing them goodnight and leaving the room._

_When Ilmarë was gone, Thingol turned to Melian and asked, “Has she seen this in a vision – that she will remain alone? Is that how she knows?”_

_“No, Ilmarë closed herself off to visions long ago. She does not have them now. She is speaking out of hurt and loneliness,” Melian said and the thought of her friend’s loneliness saddened her greatly._

_Thingol studied his wife’s face and took her hand in his. “And what have you seen, my love? Have you been given any visions on the matter?”_

_Melian brightened a little and gave him a secretive glance. “Perhaps I have. But a wife is not required to share everything with her husband.”_

_Thingol stood quickly and lifted Melian into his arms as he declared, “I have been gone far too long, it seems, and now I must remind my wife of what she is required to share with her husband.”_

_Even from her rooms, Ilmarë could hear Melian and Thingol’s laughter as they went toward the opposite end of the house, toward Melian’s rooms. A set of doors in her bedroom faced the sea and Ilmarë opened them. She stepped out onto the grass and listened to the surf rushing to meet the nearby shore. Grief washed over her like the waters of the sea and the waves of loneliness crashing down upon Ilmarë threatened to overcome her. She struggled to keep her head above the tides of sorrow as she had done for the past centuries. Yet now she could find little reason for her efforts and longed to find some escape…but she knew there was none._

Ilmarë sat up suddenly, the grief from her dream resting heavy upon her chest and the weight made it hard to breathe – not even her illness had rested so heavy. Elrond moved in his sleep and Ilmarë slipped quietly from the bed, careful not to wake him. He had asked her to stay in his room that night for he still worried for her health and had not left her side since she awakened earlier that afternoon. To watch over her this first night was all he wanted, he had said, but Ilmarë suspected he asked for his own benefit as well. The past weeks had worn on Elrond and he was weary enough to fall asleep before Ilmarë had. 

Now she put on her robe and left the room, making no noise as she closed the door behind her. 

 

~*~

 

 

NOTES: Just to clarify, all chapters written in italics like this one are Ilmarë’s dreams, sent by Melian. The time frame of this dream is just after the War of Wrath up through the first 400-500 years of the Second Age. 

More details from the Book of Lost Tales: 

Ilwë: The middle air that flows among the stars. 

Manwë: The description of Manwë and his throne comes from a picture drawn by Tolkien entitled ‘Thought’. The description of his home comes from Book of Lost Tales. In Morgoth’s Ring it says that Manwe could not penetrate the shadows of Morgoth’s mind, and in the Silm it says that when Manwe and Varda sat together on their thrones in the watchtower she could hear further into Middle-earth and he could see further. But he wasn’t omniscient and couldn’t see everything, and by the end of the First Age the Valar’s powers of action had begun to diminish, according to Tolkien.

Makar and Meássë: Two of the original Valar, left out by Tolkien in the later stories. They were brother and sister whose home was a great iron fortress in the Outer Lands of Valinor where they and their vassals constantly practiced battle. They seem to be based on the myths in Scandinavia of Unending Battle. Their home was close to Mandos and Tulkas visited it at times so ‘that he might not grow soft in his fair living’. Meássë is called an Amazon with bloody arms and Makar’s name means slaughter or battle. They disagreed often with Manwë, loved the unbridled turmoil’s Melkor had created in Arda, but did not seem to care for Melkor himself and helped defeat and chain him on his first capture. They’re among the things that were lost from the original tales. 

The War of Wrath: Eärendil did defeat the dragon Ancalagon, Morgoth did keep the dragon army hidden until the last, and Tulkas and Oromë pulled Morgoth from Angband, then his form was executed and he was exiled to the Void. Everything other than that is just from my abnormal mind. 

Valmar is the city of the Elves that sat on Taniquetil, and Manwë and Varda’s home was on the summit of the mountain, along with some of the other Valar. 

Eönwë did go to Middle-earth and offer the pardons for the exiled Elves so they could return to Aman, and he gave Elrond and Elros their choice. I guess he stayed there to kind of supervise the clean-up after the War of Wrath. 

Belwë is the name I’ve invented for Círdan’s father, just to give the guy some family, which would make him Thingol’s nephew in this story. It never says when or if Thingol was released from the Halls of Mandos, but he wouldn’t have a place in this story if he hadn’t been released, so there you have it. 

The part about the Ainur not being able to take another mate after they’ve been…ahem, intimate, is my invention, too. But as uptight as the Valar obviously were about that sort of thing, I figured it was reasonable. 

 

~*~


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 

 

Ereinion fingers dug deeper into the feather mattress as he opened his eyes to watch his companion go about her attentive work. A dark curtain of hair obscured her face yet he was very aware of each movement she made as she leaned over him. His grip tightened again and his hips rose instinctively to meet her mouth’s downward descent, feeling her tongue work its way along his skin as she withdrew her mouth. A breath of air brushed across the tip like a humid breeze before a cloud of lips and tongue surrounded his length again. He had paid her many visits over the last few centuries and always the pattern remained the same - and why not? It had always pleased him in the past, to feel himself reach the barrier of her throat and then have her slowly remove the warmth of her mouth, only to take him in fully again. And why not? Why not, indeed…why did it not please him this evening, as it had before. 

He had visited her in hopes of sweeping away his unwanted thoughts – thoughts that demanded purging. And what better way to purge disturbing thoughts than with something familiar and pleasing…or what had once been pleasing. The Noldorin law equated the joining of bodies to marriage, but one could always find ways around the rules if one were determined enough. If one were determined enough to find release… He had found release with her many times and she him, for they were neither of a mind to marry, at least not to one another. She had other partners as well, as did Ereinion, and the situation worked to their mutual advantage. They cared for each other enough to enjoy the other’s company and the benefits it had to offer. The arrangement pleased Ereinion because she lived far from the city and she was discreet – for her own sake as much as his. 

But tonight had obviously been a misjudgment on his part. The message concerning his visit had arrived a few hours prior, she said, and she had been happy to see him. Nothing was mentioned of his long absence or the troubles that had clearly settled their weight on his mind. Their relationship was more practical. They took pleasure in one another - nothing more - and both were comfortable with that. 

She had undressed him slowly, drawing out her movements to tease him, as he preferred, and it had served its purpose of arousing him. By the time she removed his trousers, his length had eagerly escaped the material containing it. At first she had touched his skin with nothing more than her breath, moving slowly. Her teasing fingers followed, soon replaced by her mouth. 

But tonight had obviously been a misjudgment on his part. The touch of his companion’s mouth fell short of his needs. He tried to concentrate on her actions, but this was not the touch he desired and not the woman he wanted. Ereinion at last realized his mistake: he thought to alleviate his longing for Ilmarë by finding physical satisfaction with another but he longed for more than physical contact. He wanted to share this experience with Ilmarë, this experience and many others. He yearned to feel her skin beneath his hands, to feel her body react to his, to feel her touch him with love and see love in her eyes when she looked at him…the way she looked at Elrond. Though now he only felt the excitement draining from his body, seeping through holes left by the stabbing thoughts of Ilmarë with Elrond. Yes…coming here tonight had obviously been a misjudgment on his part. 

Ereinion’s body could not hide his reduced participation and his companion noticed. Her efforts increased as his decreased, and now she added her hands to the rhythmic motions of her mouth. He had hoped the familiar act would comfort him and rid his mind of the unwanted thoughts of Ilmarë, yet his companion’s movements did not excite him enough to serve that purpose; they seemed boring, commonplace…almost perfunctory. He laid his hand on her shoulder, intending to tell her she need not continue. But what would his reasons be, for she would want reasons. He could not tell her the truth – the truth would be that he did not want her mouth against his flesh, but Ilmarë’s… Against his weakening will, Ereinion wondered how different it would be with Ilmarë in his companion’s place. 

Would her touch be timid? Would this be a new experience for Ilmarë to make her nervous? Considering her air of innocence, Ereinion thought it would be. The excitement kindled in his body once more at the image in his mind of Ilmarë’s light, caressing fingers and her tentative but willing mouth. The thought of Ilmarë’s mouth combined with his companion’s actions sent a bolt of desire slamming through his body. His fingers gripped her shoulder and his eyes squeezed shut as his head fell back against the bed, the fantasy claiming Ereinion’s mind before he could think to stop it. 

Yes…it was Ilmarë’s mouth he wanted to push his length into, Ilmarë’s tongue caressing his skin, Ilmarë’s black hair brushing against his legs as his hands clutched the silken mass, holding her head firmly as his hips rose, slowly moving himself in and out of the soft opening of her lips. It was Ilmarë’s head in his lap now and her groans he felt vibrate along his flesh as he thrust himself into the warmth of her mouth. 

Ereinion felt the tension tightening the muscles of his body as he strained…oh, the tension, both painful and pleasurable in the same instant, pouring into the center of his loins and making his hips move faster. The tension pulling his muscles taut, until he shook with the effort of moving. But he could not stop moving, not when he was so close…close enough for his heart to pound with his labored breathing and the tension to fill every corner of his body, every muscle, every breath, until he could contain it no longer. 

Ilmarë… his heart cried out for her as the tension gave way to release and burst within him. The first spasms forced a cry from deep in his throat and his hands tightened in Ilmarë’s hair. His back arched away from the bed as his muscles clenched with the exquisitely painful tremors flooding his body. Ereinion moaned over and over to feel Ilmarë accept his release and draw his length further into her soft mouth, then to feel her tongue coax a fresh round of shudders from his body. 

“Ilmarë.” Ereinion heard his voice shake as he breathed her name and collapsed back onto the blankets. He lay there, exhausted, his chest rising and falling with great, heaving breaths. It was several minutes before his quivering muscles would allow him to move, and even longer before the euphoric cloud passed from his mind, allowing the light of realization to shine its rays on Ereinion’s imagined bliss. It had not been Ilmarë who performed this favor for him. A glance at his companion’s grim face told Ereinion she had heard him say Ilmarë’s name and had sensed his thoughts were not of her, but Ilmarë. 

As the coach took him back to the piers of Harlond the words of his companion echoed in his mind and made his guilt all the worse, for she had been right. _Your behavior is a disservice not only to me, but also to the woman you pulled unwillingly into your mind. I ask for neither commitment nor vows, but I do ask for your respect. I will not be used in this manner._

In her anger she had not even wanted him to perform the favor in return, and this not only surprised Ereinion but also gave him a sense of relief. After apologizing, he left and now as he stared out the coach window, he told himself it was better this way. He made a grave mistake on his part and it was not one he cared to repeat. Using other women would not help him forget Ilmarë. Only time could help him forget, and time as a cure was often worse than the affliction. 

On the boat ride back to Mithlond, Ereinion had not been in the mood for the company of the mariners. Instead he stood on deck, staring out at the sea. Watching the moonlight flicker across the rolling water filled him with a sense of relaxation, and all too soon the piers of Mithlond came into sight. His coach waited there and Ereinion told the driver to take his time on the trip to the mansion. It had been a long day, what with Ilmarë’s awakening, the arrival of his guests, and his ill-fated trip, yet Ereinion was not weary and he hoped the ride might help prepare him for sleep. 

After they reached the mansion, Ereinion stepped out and dismissed the driver. He watched from the front steps while the coach clattered down the drive and back through the gates. The courtyard gardens stood empty in the winter chill and his breath hung on the air as a momentary mist, vanishing as suddenly as it appeared. A movement caught his eye – something in the trees to the left of the courtyard, and Ereinion walked back down the steps to investigate. 

The path ambled through the trees and ended in a clearing occupied only by an arbor. But on second glance Ereinion found another, quite unexpected, occupant in the clearing and no doubt the source of the movement he’d spied. He saw Ilmarë leaning against the low stone wall and she was looking toward the east, at the plains of Lindon. Ereinion knew he should return to the house yet he hesitated, not especially wanting to leave. 

“Ereinion…you’ve returned.” Ilmarë called out, turning to find him standing at the edge of the trees. She smiled as he crossed the clearing to join her. “I wondered why you never came back to Elrond’s rooms. When Haleth brought my dinner she told me you’d gone to visit a friend this evening and would not return until morning. I thought the coach was another one of your guests arriving.” 

“Ilmarë, you should not be outside in the cold. Why are you up and about so late at night instead of sleeping?” When he stood close to her he felt short of breath and his eyes strayed toward her mouth, causing him no small amount of guilt.

“Another dream awoke me and I could not sleep afterwards. Did you share it?” 

“No, I did not. I have not slept tonight and I am beginning to doubt I will sleep at all. What was this dream about?” He tried to keep his eyes on hers instead of allowing the sight of her mouth to remind him of his earlier fantasy, and Ereinion was relieved when she turned away to rest her arms on top of the wall again. 

“Manwë… though I called him Father in my dream and he wanted forgiveness from me, but for what I do not know. I dreamt of Thingol’s return as well and I believe I know why you are receiving these dreams Melian sends me.” 

“And why is that?” Ereinion asked and rested his arms near hers as he leaned against the wall. 

Ilmarë shook her head in irritation. “I believe Melian sends them to you as well as me. Since I could take no spouse among the Ainur, Thingol apparently planned to marry me off to an Elven King and thought you to be well suited for the position, in spite of your being Noldorin.” 

That earned a laugh from Ereinion and lightened his mood a little. “I am flattered he would think so. Although I am not all together sure that is the reason for my dreams. I am prone to visions and dreams, even more so than other Elves. I do not know the cause of it, but it has always been this way for me. Perhaps that has something to do with it.” He glanced at Ilmarë and said, “And you found the idea of marrying me so distasteful it woke you from sleep and kept you awake?” His tone teased but he truly wished to know, yet he was certain whatever answer she gave would only serve to torture him further. 

“No, the idea of marrying you was not what woke me – what spurred Thingol and Melian to discuss it in the first place was the cause.” Ilmarë looked down at her hands and frowned. “I lived a sad and lonely existence after Rušurayan left me the first time, but the second time he abandoned me…it was much worse. He refused the pardon and sent a message with Eönwë telling me not to follow him. The weight of that pain…if I could have found a way to sever my bonds and leave this world, I would have gladly done it. Yet now…now I am glad I did not.” 

Putting all his worries aside, Ereinion pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as Ilmarë laid her head against his shoulder. “Ilmarë…I am sorry. I am thankful you are still here.” 

“Ereinion, may I ask your advice?” He answered yes, and she said, “I know I felt love for Rušurayan. Though I feel differently about Elrond, I believe I love him as well.” 

Ereinion berated himself for answering yes. Giving Ilmarë advice on her feelings for Elrond did not appeal to him in the least, but there seemed no way out of it now without seeming rude or hurting her feelings. She shifted nervously in his arms and let out a frustrated sigh. 

“I wish to ask you a question, Ereinion, yet I fear it to be rude or prying.” 

“You may ask me and if I do not wish to answer it, I will say so.” 

“Very well, then…” Ilmarë shifted nervously again. “Círdan told me love might be experienced on different levels, that you may love someone enough to be intimate with them yet not enough to marry them. It is clear you have not loved a woman enough to marry, but have you loved one enough to…well, to share yourself with her?” 

Ereinion closed his eyes and wondered if the night could possibly get any worse. Though he felt he would regret this answer as well, curiosity to know why she asked overcame him. 

“I have.” 

“You loved a woman enough, even though you were not able to act upon it.”

“Women, Ilmarë…more than one, and I did act upon it.”

His answer surprised Ilmarë. “But you are Noldor…” 

“I am half Sindarin as well, and in my youth I lived among the Gray Elves. I did not come to follow the Noldorin ways until I took up the kingship. I decided if I were to lead the Noldorin people I should hold to their ways as well.” 

“I see…” Ilmarë said. “Then you loved them enough to be intimate with them, yet not enough to marry them. How did you know the difference?”

“Their company was enjoyable and I cared about them a great deal, yet I could not envision myself bound to any of those women, spending thousands upon thousands of years in their company or them bearing my children. When it came time to part, it pained me and I missed them for a time but it passed. To love someone enough to marry them would be far more powerful and something that would not pass.” 

“I see…” Ilmarë said again and fell silent. 

When it was obvious she did not intend to speak, Ereinion said, “Why do you ask?” 

She sighed and said, “Because love and attraction confuse me, mostly because I have little comparison to go by, what with my memories gone. I thought procuring knowledge from someone with experience in these matters would be helpful.” 

“And did my answer lessen your confusion any?” 

“No,” Ilmarë answered honestly, “but you have given me something to think on.” 

“Ilmarë…if you must question how much you love a person, then more likely than not, you do not love them enough. You should think on that as well.” 

That the advice was honest made Ereinion feel no less guilty at giving it. But then, he told himself, what was one more addition to his ever-growing mound of guilt. He continued to hold Ilmarë and it pained him to note how well her body fit against his. Even through the heavy cloaks they wore, he could feel each movement she made, each shift of her hands where they rested on his chest. His hands brushed her hair as he ran them along her back and his fantasy intruded again, of burying his hands in her hair as her mouth touched his skin. Ereinion’s body eagerly reacted to Ilmarë’s close proximity. He grasped her shoulders and abruptly put her away from him, startling her, then cleared his throat as he looked away.

“We should go inside now. It is very cold and very late. You need to rest.” 

Ilmarë studied him for a moment before nodding, and they walked back to the house together in silence. Ereinion was thankful for the fabric of his cloak, thick enough to hide his body’s reaction until he had it under control, and once inside he removed the cloak before helping Ilmarë with hers. 

“At least you dressed warmly to go outside,” Ereinion said, waiting for her to untie the cloak. 

“I had no choice. When I first went outside I walked down the steps and my body began to shake, a multitude of tiny bumps spread out all over my skin, and my mouth began to tremble and made a loud noise, like this…” and she stopped untying the cloak to make a chattering sound with her teeth. “So I came back inside and found one of these cloaks. Earlier this evening, Elrond came downstairs to greet some arriving visitors and I snuck out into the hallway to watch. They all had these wrapped around them when they came inside, so I thought a cloak might prove useful.” 

Ereinion chuckled and said, “At least your reasoning skills are sound.” As he lifted the cloak off her shoulders he inhaled deeply. “What is that smell?” 

Ilmarë turned around to face him. “I bathed this afternoon, Ereinion, and very thoroughly.” She grimaced and shifted her shoulders. “My back still feels raw from Haleth’s scrubbing…” 

“No, Ilmarë…it is not an unpleasant smell. A flowery scent…reminds me of something I cannot quite place.” Ereinion opened the door to the cloakroom and stepped inside. 

“Oh…” Ilmarë said and smiled, “it is lissuin. I put the oil on after I bathed. The flower is from Eressëa and the scent is different for each person.” She leaned toward the cloakroom door and spoke louder. “To Elrond it smelled of the leather binding on his books and Círdan thought it smelled of the sea. What do you smell?” 

Ereinion left the cloakroom and closed it. “That is why the scent is familiar. I remember it from the dreams I had of Eressëa and the flowers surrounding your home.” 

Ilmarë took Ereinion’s arm when he offered it and went with him toward the stairs. “But is there no particular scent you associate it with? Or a comforting image that comes to mind?” 

Ereinion bent down and sniffed close to her neck. Only one thought came to him and it did make him feel comforted...even relaxed. Relaxed enough to speak it aloud. 

“You.” 

Ereinion closed his mouth quickly, but too late…the word had already slipped out and now Ilmarë regarded him with shock. No, not shock, he realized…something closer to amazement. A marked improvement over shock, in his opinion. After a tense moment, Ereinion looked away. 

“It is late, Ilmarë. I will see you to your room.” 

He stepped toward the stairway leading to her room, but she pulled on his arm. 

“No, not to my room.” She pointed toward the opposite stairway and averted her eyes. “I must go back to Elrond’s room. I slept in his bed again tonight and I do not wish for him to wake and find me gone. He will worry.” 

Ereinion closed his eyes and frowned. His jaw tensed briefly before he said, “Yes, we would not want to cause him worry. He has worried enough these past weeks.” 

They did not speak as they walked together up the stairway. At Elrond’s bedroom door, Ereinion released her arm and waited for Ilmarë to enter the room. She hesitated and then stepped toward Ereinion, meaning to give him a kiss on the cheek for she felt as though she ought to do something. But Ereinion moved out of her reach and shook his head. 

“No, Ilmarë. I am sorry, but I feel very…soiled after my journey tonight. It is best if you do not kiss me.” He nodded toward the door. “You should go, before Elrond wakes. Good night, Ilmarë.” And he turned and walked down the hallway toward his own rooms. 

Ilmarë called out after him, saying goodnight but Ereinion did not answer. She quietly entered the bedroom and slipped back into bed next to Elrond, the weight on her chest resting no easier now than it had when she first woke from her dream. 

 

~*~


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18 

 

“Get on out of the kitchen. Shoo…go on with you now.” Haleth waved a threatening dishrag, but seeing Ilmarë’s crestfallen face, she said, “If you want to be of use you can help Adanel in the dining room. You can’t do much damage there.” She thought better of this and added, “Just don’t handle the glassware…or the china. I think you’d do just fine helping with the silverware.” Haleth picked up a box from one of the tables and pushed it into Ilmarë’s hands. “Here, you take this silverware with you and give it to Adanel. Tell her it needs to be polished. There’s a good lass…” 

Haleth gave her a light swat on the rump and Ilmarë jumped then turned to study the woman with a questioning look. Finally Ilmarë heaved a great sigh and walked away. As she shuffled toward the kitchen door she cast guilty glances at the people hurrying around the room, some opening windows and some fanning dishtowels. 

In the dining room, Adanel stepped back from the china cabinet and sniffed the air. One of the doors on the far side of the dining room swung open and a disheveled Ilmarë entered the room, her dress and hair splattered liberally with pale brown flour and a sooty black streak smeared across one cheek. A cloud of gray smoke and a suspicious burnt smell followed close behind. Adanel shook her head as she walked to meet Ilmarë. 

“What happened to you?” Adanel asked, taking the box from Ilmarë and setting it on one of the dark wooden tables. She pulled a rag from her apron pocket and dusted off as much of the flour as she could before trying to clean the black from Ilmarë’s face. 

Ilmarë sighed and said, “I only wanted to help. Elrond has been in meetings all day and I cannot go outside for he deemed it too cold, so I asked Haleth if she would allow me to help prepare the food for this evening.”

Adanel stopped wiping and looked at Ilmarë in surprise. “You know how to cook, then?”

“Well, no…but I have watched other people do so many times. The process appeared simple enough.” Ilmarë finally met Adanel’s gaze with an incredulous look and said, “Your mother seemed very upset to discover that I had never cooked before.” 

“And when did she discover that?” Adanel asked, beginning to suspect where this was leading. 

“When she and the others were trying to put out the fire.” Ilmarë said. Adanel made a choking noise and tried to suppress a smile. Ilmarë eyed her doubtfully for a moment and then continued. “After the fire was extinguished your mother informed me – and in a very loud voice, I might add – that I had overfilled the pan. I do wish she would have told me so before I placed the pan in the oven.” 

“It caught aflame?” Adanel frowned and said, “What in the name of Aman were you cooking?” 

“Something called a fruit wedding cake,” Ilmarë answered and frowned, too. “Apparently Haleth felt I added far too much cooking sherry, as well.” Her frown deepened when Adanel laughed. “You would not find it so amusing if you were in my place and had just ruined a morning’s work. I burned not only my cake, but also everything else in the oven, and angered all the workers in the kitchen. They certainly did not find it amusing.”

Seeing that Ilmarë was truly upset, Adanel’s laughter quieted. “Don’t take it so hard, Miss Ilmarë. There’s several hours yet before supper; I’m sure everything can be remade,” she said and slipped her arm through the crook of Ilmarë’s arm. “Come and help me with my chores. I was just on my way outside.” 

Ilmarë nodded dejectedly and allowed Adanel to lead her across the wide dining room. They moved quickly through the room, skirting around the bustling servants who busied themselves unfolding tablecloths, dusting furniture, and polishing crystal. After leaving the room through a side door and walking down a long hallway, they reached a heavy wooden door. As they stepped out into the backyard, Ilmarë glanced around, looking out over the yellowed lawn crisscrossed with brick paths leading to stables, many buildings, and several empty garden beds. She thought briefly of Elrond’s admonition that she stay indoors but decided he was being overcautious, although that decision was influenced by her eagerness to see where Adanel was leading her. 

In the next moment, though, she reversed that decision and came to agree with Elrond that it was far too cold. The winter wind blew bitter and chilled their skin for neither she nor Adanel had worn cloaks. A blast of frigid air hit them and Ilmarë bent her head away from it, allowing Adanel to lead her down one of the brick paths. 

_I will never grow accustomed to the cold here. How I long for the shores of Eressëa_ Ilmarë thought. A gnawing sense of loneliness filled her, rivaling the biting wind.

When the wind died away Ilmarë raised her head and saw the building they hurried towards. Sunlight glinted off the roof and she raised a hand to shield her eyes. Only then did she realize the building was made entirely of windows. No solid walls of stone or wood – not even the roof; that too was made of glass. 

“A house of glass. Who resides here?” Ilmarë asked, slowing her pace a bit and peering at the vague shapes on the opposite side of the opaque windows.

Adanel tugged on Ilmarë’s arm and said, “If you hurry I will introduce you to the occupants.” 

Another world greeted Ilmarë across the threshold. Warm, humid air enveloped her, clinging like a mist that Ilmarë’s cold, dry skin eagerly soaked up. The room reminded her of Elrond’s bedroom during her convalescence, the thick moist feel to the air, but here the sweet fragrance of flowers lingered…

Flowers…Ilmarë looked around in wonder at the rows of tables overflowing with greenery ornamented by many different flowers. Their scent seemed to have replaced the very air inside the building and Ilmarë closed her eyes as she inhaled deeply. For a moment she escaped these shores of unforgiving cold and returned to her gardens near Avallónë. Pulling in another deep breath of perfumed air, she swallowed a gorge of homesick longing. She cleared her throat, hoping to allow ample time for the tears behind her closed eyelids to recede. When she felt it safe, Ilmarë opened her eyes again. 

“You outwit the harsh winter with this sheltered garden,” she said to Adanel, who was retrieving a large straw basket from a high shelf just inside the doorway.

“Oh no, not me,” Adanel replied, shaking her head, “I help here and there, but Master Elrond built the hothouse and he’s the one what tends to it. Very particular about having his herbs year round, he is. But the flowers now…I believe he grows those simply for enjoyment.” She took a pair of shears from the shelf as well and placed them inside the basket. “Oh sure enough there’s a few in the city who keep hothouses, but none do so well as Master Elrond’s. He used to spend quite a bit of time out here and in the gardens. Though now I expect he’ll be spending all that time with you instead,” she added with a wink and a grin. 

Ilmarë walked to a table set against the wall, empty of plants but covered with gardening tools and containers of soil. “I would not want Elrond to forgo his time spent here. Perhaps we can spend time here together.” Ilmarë said, picking up a pair of well-worn leather gloves from the table, obviously a man’s from the size of them. “Clearly, I have a good deal yet to learn about Elrond.” 

With a knowing smile, Adanel watched Ilmarë set the gloves back on the table, then said, “You look around, Miss Ilmarë, and I’ll be off to cut flowers for the dining room tables.” 

Ilmarë nodded her head and Adanel walked away, singing to herself as she went about her work. The tune floated along the humid air and Ilmarë leaned over one of the containers to inhale the rich scent of the soil. She grabbed a handful of the black dirt then let some of it fall from her fingers and back into the pot. She had worked daily in her gardens on Eressëa and now vividly remembered the feel of the loose earth around her hands as she buried them in the soil. 

A jolt of realization ran through her body. She stilled with shock and her fingers clutched the clumps of earth she held as she stared absently at her hands. 

_I remember…_ She remembered working in her gardens on Eressëa and this memory came not from Melian but from Ilmarë’s own mind – of digging in the soil with a trowel and her bare hands while a fair, scented breeze drifted over her. Ilmarë allowed the soil to fall back into the container and she studied her hands intently as a new realization struck her – the dirt on Eressëa had not felt as this soil did, not grainy and moist, clinging to her fingers. Neither had its dark residue filled the many lines now traced on her skin, nor had the dirt lodged in the space beneath her fingernails. 

Understanding washed over her - gently at first like the fair breezes of Eressëa, but within moments it grew to such strength that she at last fully comprehended. Certainly the soil of Eressëa and Middle-earth differed, but this was not the cause. The true difference lay in the body now housing her. The dirt had not stained her assumed form because, despite the similarities with her present form, it had not been a true incarnate body. Dirt had never attached to it, odor had never touched it, hunger had never filled it, injury and illness had never afflicted it, and all because it was truly a shell. Her form had experienced feelings of pleasure or unhappiness, but her spirit experienced those things to a degree far beyond what her assumed form could ever know. 

But this new form…this body…its sensations rivaled that of her spirit and on some levels exceeded it. Everything she experienced now felt more vibrant, more real…more alive. Ilmarë had exerted complete control over her assumed form, yet this body functioned of its own accord and she had little control over the majority of those functions. Her body truly lived, truly entwined with Arda, and as such Ilmarë’s spirit now connected to this world in a way she had never imagined possible. 

_Melian lived this existence all these years…now I understand her attachment to it. I allowed this body to overwhelm me because I have not fully understood the experience…nor fully appreciated it…_

Yet something else had jolted through her body, something that coursed through the soil when she touched it, helping drive these realizations home for her. Ilmarë could not identify this power, but she had the disturbing impression that it had recognized her presence - and had risen to greet her…

“All done,” Adanel called in a cheery voice, shattering Ilmarë’s moment of epiphany. 

Ilmarë turned slowly toward the sound of the voice, feeling as though she had just awakened from one of her disorienting dreams. She watched Adanel walk toward her and hold out a basket now heavily laden with cut flowers. 

“Would you carry this one for me, Miss Ilmarë? I’ve another to carry and I wouldn’t want to be spilling flowers all the way back to the house.” Adanel asked, pointing to another full basket of blooms sitting on the floor near her feet. “If you’d like, you can help me fill the vases and then we’ll take you upstairs and begin getting you ready for this evening.” 

Ilmarë said nothing, only nodded. She took the basket from Adanel and followed her to the door. As they left the building, Ilmarë turned around and took a final look inside. Something had changed but she could not explain it, nor could she explain this new feeling working inside her. An odd sensation, like a pile of stones rested in her belly and a pervading sense of worry, as though something were terribly wrong yet she could not say what. Shaking her head, she pulled the door shut and left her warm haven to follow Adanel back into the cold winter wind of Middle-earth.

Ilmarë could not have known the feeling, never having experienced true dread before - though her body seemed to instinctively recognize the danger and tried its best to warn her. But she did not know, nor could she have known that the path of her life had been forever changed, and from that one brief moment on nothing would ever be the same again. 

 

~*~

 

“Are you nervous?” Elrond asked. He tightened his grasp on Ilmarë’s hand and felt her damp palm press against his. 

“Perhaps a little,” Ilmarë said and shrugged her shoulders as they walked down the hallway. She looked toward the open dining room doors coming ever closer and could now see and hear the people milling about inside. “Very well then…perhaps a great deal. But the prospect of meeting new people is also exciting. You regularly meet new people, so I would imagine gatherings like this do not make you nervous.” 

“Nervous? No,” Elrond said, shaking his head. “In the past these gatherings usually caused me no small amount of apprehension. I find no enjoyment in large crowds. Tonight, however, I am eager to attend that everyone may see the beautiful woman accompanying me.” 

Though said in a light-hearted manner, Elrond was quite serious. His appreciative gaze traveled over Ilmarë and he found that his height had its benefits. It offered him an occasional glimpse of the swell of her breasts beneath the low neck of her gown. Her hair had been pulled up, also affording him a distracting view of her slender neck. The only part of her appearance of which he disapproved was the full skirt of the dress for the silken material hid the curves of her lower body from his view. Although now that he thought on it, perhaps her body being hidden had its benefits. While he looked forward to presenting Ilmarë in public as his companion, he did not care for the idea of other men looking too closely at her body and made a mental note to make certain she did not stand too close to any overly tall males. 

Ilmarë saw him peek down at her breasts again, as he had done several times since they’d left her room, and she shook her head. What pleasing traits he saw in this body still eluded her though it gave her some small sense of pride to know he found it so attractive. Ilmarë had no difficulty in finding many pleasing traits about Elrond’s body and snuck sidelong glances at him, yet the irony of that double standard escaped her. Beneath a formal gray robe embroidered with silver, Elrond wore a black shirt and trousers and his dark hair had been left unbound, held back by the silver circlet he wore. _Elrond will not be the only one proud of their escort this evening,_ she thought and smiled as she looked at the dining room doors just ahead. 

Ilmarë gasped in surprise when Elrond suddenly pulled her aside, leaving them partially hidden behind a tall statue of an armored warrior. Pulling her against him, Elrond lowered his mouth to hers and when his tongue parted her lips, he heard Ilmarë moan softly as her hands slid up his back. In those brief stolen moments they paid attention to nothing, save the feel of the other’s mouth and body. They both jumped slightly when the sound of someone clearing their throat intruded. 

Ilmarë pulled away just in time to see the back of a golden skirt disappearing into the dining room. She looked up at Elrond with a smile and said, “What possessed you to do that?”

He ran his fingers lightly along her cheek and let out a satisfied sigh. “The last time we walked into this room together I wanted to kiss you and I have spent the last several days regretting my decision not to. I do not wish to make any more decisions concerning you which I will come to later regret.” 

Despite his newfound resolve, Elrond looked up guiltily as more footsteps sounded from the hallway. “I suppose we should go in now.” He paused and looked back down at Ilmarë, and said, “You should not mention your illness to any of the other guests. It would look very odd for you to have awoken from such a serious illness only yesterday and be moving about today as though nothing had been wrong. It will raise suspicion. None know you were ill but Ereinion, Círdan and myself, and the few servants who helped tend to you. I think it best to remain that way.” 

Ilmarë nodded in understanding. “I agree. I will say nothing of it.” 

Elrond gave her a quick kiss and walked from behind the statue, entering the crowded dining room. Many guests greeted Elrond and looked curiously at Ilmarë as they walked across the room but she saw no familiar faces among them. A sigh of relief escaped her when she saw Círdan raise his hand in the air to catch their attention. As they walked toward him Ilmarë studied the woman standing next to Círdan, golden haired and clad in a form fitting white dress. Her dark eyes studied Ilmarë as well, but Ilmarë relaxed when she saw the open, friendly smile on the woman’s face. 

“Ilmarë, may I introduce you to Írien?” Círdan said, gesturing toward his companion. 

Elrond bowed his head in polite greeting, as did Írien, but Ilmarë gave only a quick nod. She lifted her head quickly to smile at Írien, thinking here was one who could be considered beautiful for she had a grace of spirit that shone through in her features.

“You are the woman Círdan has been coming to Mithlond to see?” she asked. 

“So Círdan has spoken of me, has he?” Írien said and her smile widened to see Ilmarë nod in assent. “And so he has spoken of you, as well. I am pleased to meet you, Ilmarë. Are you enjoying your stay here in Ereinion’s home?” 

“And why would she not, my dear cousin?” Ereinion said as he emerged from the crowd of people just behind Círdan. 

“Because you have been mothered by Haleth and her kin for too many years now,” Írien said, offering her cheek for a quick kiss from Ereinion. “There are times when you behave like an errant child.” 

“I shall remember that the next time you wish to come stay with me to escape your father,” Ereinion replied with a laugh, then turned to Elrond and Ilmarë. “I had begun to question whether the two of you would come downstairs this evening.”

“I wondered the same thing myself,” Ilmarë replied, thinking of Elrond’s hesitation at allowing her to come downstairs, which he considered too exerting. Elrond’s warning gaze reminded her not to speak of her illness and she sought to change the subject. “Cousin, you say? Then you are kin to Ereinion?” she asked Írien. 

“Distant cousins, yes,” Írien said. “His forefather, Finarfin, was brother to my foremother, Lalwen. Now my father aids Ereinion in maintaining good relations with other rulers and their kingdoms. Ereinion has done a remarkable job of keeping the scattered Elven kingdoms on good terms…although I do not always agree with my father’s methods.” 

Ilmarë could see the irritation on Írien’s face as she stared into the glass she held and apparently Ereinion noticed this as well. 

“Well, then,” Ereinion said in a cheerful tone, “let us change the topic to something more pleasant…” 

“I do not believe that will be possible, Ereinion,” Elrond interrupted in a dry tone and Ilmarë felt his arm tense beneath her hand. 

She looked up to see Elrond staring unhappily toward the crowd and noted that Írien and Círdan did the same. Ereinion, however, did not look unhappy. He stared off into the crowd as well but his face appeared to show no emotion whatsoever. Though she did notice the stiffness in his stance, as though he were frozen in place. Ilmarë followed his gaze and saw the Elven couple who approached. 

“Good evening, Lord Elrond,” the man said with a polite nod, “forgive us for intruding, but my daughter and I wished to meet your charming new companion.” 

Elrond hesitated for a moment, but then covered Ilmarë’s hand on his arm with his free hand and said, “Ilmarë, this is Rillion, one of the visiting Noldorin lords from Harlindon, and his daughter, Anarríma.” 

The tone of in Elrond’s voice surprised Ilmarë but she ignored it, as did the dark-haired Elf who gracefully bowed to her. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ilmarë,” Rillion said as he stood again. 

Ilmarë bowed her head in thanks before offering Rillion a smile, although it had little effect on the stony expression he wore. His daughter bowed politely as well and Ilmarë studied her as she did. Anarríma’s dark hair gleamed as did her father’s, but hers spilled down over the skin of her bare shoulders. Ilmarë noted the decorations covering Anarríma’s golden gown, and the way the jewels sewn into the skirt sparkled when she moved. The extremely low neck of Anarríma’s dress also caught Ilmarë’s attention; she felt certain the Elven maiden was wearing a corset. Her breasts protruded above the neck of her gown and from what Ilmarë could tell, the dress exposed more of Anarríma’s breasts than it covered. If Ilmarë had thought the corset she had been forced into made her breasts appear akin to a glass of water about to spill, then surely Anarríma’s barely restrained bosoms were apt to cause a flood.

“I am pleased to meet you, as well, Lady Ilmarë,” Anarríma said and her assessing look made Ilmarë uncomfortable. “Ilmarë…” she mused, “hmmm…yes, I have heard King Gil-galad mention your name before...just yesterday evening, as a matter of fact.” Anarríma looked pointedly at Ereinion and smiled. 

A dull red blush rushed to his cheeks, but Ereinion met Anarríma’s overly innocent gaze with an unhappy, level stare. Ereinion felt the group’s questioning gazes on him and he said, “Yes, I related to Lady Anarríma how pleased I was that Ilmarë had come to stay in my home.” Not wanting to remain and take the chance on Anarríma hinting at the particulars of their evening in front of Ilmarë, Ereinion cleared his throat and gave a quick nod to the group. “The servants are far too slow this evening. You will have to excuse me. I am in need of a drink.” 

Ereinion ignored Elrond and Ilmarë’s questioning gazes - and Círdan’s accusing gaze - and turned on his heel, walking quickly across the room. Anarríma smirked as she watched him leave and after a moment moved to follow him. 

“I find my thirst bothersome as well, Father. Would you excuse me, please?” Anarríma said and gave her father a quick, distracted peck on the cheek. 

“Of course, my dear,” Rillion said with an indulgent smile. “It would not do to allow your throat to become dry if you’re to sing this evening.” 

Ilmarë did not miss the subtle roll of Írien’s eyes nor Círdan’s suppressed smile in response. When Ilmarë looked up at Elrond questioningly, he gave a quick shake of his head as if to say they would discuss it later. Though she did notice Elrond’s marked look of relief as Anarríma disappeared into the crowd. His relief appeared to dissipate when Rillion spoke again. 

“My daughter is a very accomplished singer. It is not often that she graces a gathering with song and there is no doubt much anticipation about her performance tonight. Do you sing, Lady Ilmarë?” Rillion asked, his condescending tone clearly showing that he expected her answer to be no. 

Elrond narrowed his eyes at the Noldo but Ilmarë appeared not to notice as she considered Rillion’s question. After a moment’s thought her eyes took on a far-away look. 

“Upon a time, I sang in a great chorus with my people,” Ilmarë said and closed her eyes. 

For a fleeting moment she could hear mingled voices ring out across the depths of sky and space, and caught a glimpse of the stars flaring and glittering in tempo to the rising song. Then underlying notes of discord infiltrated the perfect harmony and the sound jarred her out of the fragmented memory. Though to Ilmarë it felt as though Ages had passed since she closed her eyes, in truth it had been no more than a second. She became aware of Elrond’s tightening grip on her forearm and when she turned to him she saw a look of comprehension and surprise on his face. Círdan’s face, however, wore a warning frown, reminding Ilmarë of where she was and to whom she was speaking. 

“Although the songs of my homeland would likely grate upon Elven ears, and I do not know any songs of Middle-earth,” Ilmarë said, facing Rillion again with a smile. Her smile widened as she had a thought. “I must correct myself, for there is one song of Middle-earth that I am familiar with. I heard it sung by the mariners often enough to remember the words. Being a male, I am sure you would enjoy it, Lord Rillion. It was about the mariner’s shared admiration of the usefulness of women with large breasts…something about their having better buoyancy in the water…” 

Írien let out a short burst of laughter, which she quickly stifled, and Círdan cleared his throat as he waved his hand warningly at Ilmarë. 

“Ilmarë, my dear,” he said with a shake of his head and a bright but uncomfortable smile, “you have a lovely voice, but perhaps we should save that song for another time. I believe Lord Rillion’s musical tastes differ dramatically from those of myself and my mariners.” 

“Indeed,” Rillion said, his dour countenance growing even more grim, “my tastes are a bit more…refined than those of Lord Círdan and his men. Apparently your overly long stay in their company has affected your tastes as well. Clearly it is fortuitous for you to have come to stay in the King’s household. Your tastes appear to be already improving; I see you wasted no time in becoming…” he paused to glance at Elrond’s hand wrapped firmly around Ilmarë’s forearm, “…very comfortable with Lord Elrond’s influence.” 

Ilmarë’s face showed her transitory emotions as she listened to Rillion speak: confusion, understanding, and then hurt. Círdan’s jaw had clenched ever tighter with each word and Írien watched him with worry. Círdan opened his mouth to address the Noldo and Írien noted with relief that Elrond was quicker, answering in the dry, implacable tone that always heralded his irritation. 

“You display your usual intuitive nature, Rillion,” Elrond said and the curving of his lips was more a show of tolerance than it was a smile. “Ilmarë and I are quite comfortable with one another. So comfortable in fact that if someone were to insult Ilmarë, I would take it as a personal affront. And I assure you, my reaction toward the offender would be...highly unpleasant. Clearly it is fortuitous for you to have meant no insult by your observations.” 

Elrond paused and watched the Noldo with a hint of enjoyment, waiting to see if Rillion's enormous pride would choke him on the way down as he swallowed it. Though it was difficult to hold his anger in check, Elrond had dealt with Rillion many times and he did not wish to cause a public scene unless it were absolutely necessary. 

Rillion assessed the situation and reluctantly decided that making an enemy of someone such as Elrond would not be a wise course of action…especially over some insignificant Mortal whose life would be over in the blink of an Elven eye. And besides...even had Rillion not considered fisticuffs and physical violence beneath him, the thought of engaging in either with Elrond was not an appealing idea. He considered the half-Elf's bodily stature to be unrefined and almost brutish....and more than a little intimidating... 

“No, Lord Elrond, I apologize for not choosing my words more carefully. I meant no insult to the lady - merely commenting on her wise choices,” Rillion said and offered Elrond a brittle smile. “Now I ask that you excuse me while I join King Gil-galad and my daughter.” With a quick bow in their general direction, Rillion turned and left the small group without another word. 

Ilmarë stood silent and tried to think of what she could have done to cause such obvious antagonism from a total stranger. She had never met either one before that moment, yet both Rillion and Anarríma seemed to intensely dislike her. The thought of it baffled Ilmarë. 

“They are always unpleasant, Ilmarë,” Elrond said and Ilmarë found him smiling down at her. “It is their way. Rillion enjoys sitting in judgement of others and Anarríma does not like anyone who threatens to steal any of the attention she so thoroughly desires. There are also other reasons for her behavior, but I will tell you of those later when we are alone. Just know that you did nothing to call it upon yourself and I will make certain that neither of them have the opportunity to bother you again.” 

"It 'tis not something to concern yourself over, Elrond. I have had dealings with unpleasant beings before," Ilmarë said, thinking of Yavanna. “I will learn to tolerate the unpleasant beings in Middle-earth as well.” 

The dinner bell rang, catching the attention of all in the room and the crowd slowly broke apart, moving toward the tables on the far side of the large room. Ilmarë frowned at the many settings of china, crystal and silverware covering the tables. 

“Whom will we be sitting next to, do you think?” Ilmarë asked, now almost wishing she had listened to Elrond and remained upstairs with him all evening. 

“Not ready to begin cultivating your tolerance of Rillion so soon, Ilmarë?" Círdan laughed and reached over to pat her shoulder. "Well…I cannot fault you for that.” He led Írien toward the tables and motioned for Elrond and Ilmarë to follow. “I see Adanel helping to seat the guests. We will ask her to seat us far away from any unpleasant company.” 

As the four of them walked toward the tables, Círdan surveyed the crowd ahead of them and said, “Although considering the number of Noldor here, avoiding unpleasant company may well mean we will be forced to eat in the kitchen.” 

Círdan let out an exaggerated hiss of pain when Írien pinched his arm then gave him an innocent smile, and Elrond laughed at the pair. Listening to Elrond's laughter and seeing many people turn in surprise at the sound of it, Ilmarë felt her mood lighten considerably. The prospect of the evening ahead now seemed almost tolerable. 

 

~*~


	20. Chapter 19

~ I apologize for the long delay between posting chapters. I had a hysterectomy at the first of April and like I recently told a friend, having a hysterectomy in your early 30s not only kills your sex and romance muse, it also digs a nice big hole, throws the expired muse in, sprinkles it with lime and then shovels the dirt back in and tamps it down. Hopefully my resurrected muse will stay alive and healthy now. And thanks to you all who've left reviews. You have no idea how much it means to me to know that people are enjoying what I write and then taking the time to say such wonderful things about it. I can't thank you enough. Now let's get back to getting Ilmare laid, shall we? :-D We can't have Elrond sending Jane Doe any more psychic pleas for help. I'm sure it took a lot for him to reach out like that and ask for help. (accompanying extremely big grin). 

Since it's been so long since I've updated - a quick recap: we left Ilmare and Elrond at the dinner party, where she met Cirdan's lady friend, Irien, a Noldorin Elf and Ereinion's cousin, Ereinion being descended from Finarfin and Irien being descended from Lalwen, Finarfin and Fingolfin's sister. She also met two unpleasant Noldorin Elves, Rillion and his daughter, Anarrima, who Ereinion likes to call Deep Throat. ;-D ~ 

 

 

Chapter 19 

 

“Well, I am certainly thankful that is over,” Círdan said as they watched Anarríma turn and smile at the musicians before nodding to the applauding crowd that surrounded her. Círdan, Írien, Elrond and Ilmarë stood far enough away from the rest of the guests to afford them a little privacy, but not so far away as to appear rude. Círdan frowned and added, “I see little reason to serve us dinner only to follow with entertainment such as that.” He placed his hand on his stomach. “Now my stomach will be upset all evening.” 

“Perhaps we should go to the kitchen,” Elrond said, studying Círdan with exaggerated concern before giving Ilmarë a subtle wink. “I am certain Haleth will have a remedy for your soured stomach.” 

Círdan held up his hand and shook his head. “I thank you, but no… I truly dread to think of what fusion Haleth would prepare. Mortals seem to believe that the more disgusting a thing is, the more medicinal value it possesses. Haleth would no doubt have me drinking some concoction brewed from goat’s hoof and pig’s bladder, stirred thoroughly with a toad’s leg which she would later bury by the light of the full moon as she held a silver coin beneath her tongue.” Círdan shook his head with a sigh and said, “And Mortals believe Elves to be a strange folk…” 

Írien pointed toward the crowd and said, “You should pour Ereinion a draught of that cure. It appears he shares your affliction of a soured stomach…although I do not believe his upset was brought on by too much song.”

Ilmarë turned to see Ereinion standing with a group of Elves, including Anarríma and her father, Rillion. Anarríma stood close to Ereinion with her hand resting in the crook of his arm and smiling. Several of the Elven lords spoke quickly in turn as Ereinion listened with a grim, unhappy expression. 

“The lords from Harlindon appear to have taken advantage of the evening to gain an audience with the King. As Ereinion’s counselors, we should join him, Círdan, ” Elrond said and watched the silver-haired Elf shake his head. 

“You are his counselor, Elrond, not I,” Círdan replied, frowning. He watched the group of Elves gesturing animatedly as they spoke to Ereinion. “Were I his counselor he would listen to my advice upon occasion. No, he chooses to ignore my wisdom and make his own foolhardy decisions….” 

Círdan pursed his lips when he sensed Elrond’s reproachful gaze upon him. He glanced at Elrond’s accusing stare, then at the group of Noldor hemming Ereinion in, then back to Elrond again. He sighed and said, “Very well, Elrond…you bear too great a resemblance to your forefather when you glare. Thingol also had the gift of convincing people to see things his way with little more than a stern glance. If you will excuse us, ladies.” 

Elrond leaned close to Ilmarë and smiled. “You do not have to accompany us, Ilmarë. I am certain you will find more enjoyment remaining here with Írien. We will not be long,” he said and Ilmarë nodded in agreement. 

Elrond joined Círdan, and Írien and Ilmarë watched them cross the room side by side, Elrond’s dark hair and deep blue robes providing a sharp contrast for Círdan’s white robe and silver mane. As they walked through the crowd, people moved aside to let them pass, offering respectful nods, which Elrond and Círdan returned. Ereinion caught sight of their approach and Ilmarë saw him nod then move aside, allowing them room to stand next to him. Anarríma’s smile faded as Elrond and Círdan came to stand on either side of her and Ereinion. Ilmarë watched Ereinion, Círdan, and Elrond’s faces with curiosity, noticing that all the mirth and light-heartedness had fled from their expressions and now they seemed almost…imposing. Yes, that was the word – imposing. Especially in light of the way Ereinion’s regal stance called attention to his greater height. The circle of Elven lords surrounding them had pulled back a little, their faces now very dour. Írien distracted Ilmarë from her study of the Elves by letting out a deep, irritated breath and folding her arms across her chest. 

“It is a waste of time for Ereinion to have these gatherings,” she said, leaning closer to Ilmarë. “With the exception of the food and music, these are not parties – they are little more than business meetings. Círdan says Ereinion prefers these gatherings to formal meetings because then it is socially acceptable for him to drink liberally when dealing with those lords from Harlindon.” 

Ilmarë laughed at the thought and then turned to Írien with curiosity. “Do you attend many of these parties? You do not seem particularly fond of them.”

“No, I am not fond of them, and for that reason I rarely attend,” Írien said and looked down at the full glass of wine she held before setting it on the tray of a passing serving woman. “Much to my parents’ disappointment.” 

Ilmarë’s eyes searched the crowd. “Are your parents here this evening?” she asked Írien, who immediately shook her head. 

“No, my father traveled to Greenwood the Great seven days past and my mother accompanied him. He makes regular visits there on Ereinion’s behalf. Ereinion hopes to maintain a sort of friendship between the leader of the Silvan Elves there - Oropher, their self-styled king,” Írien added with no small amount of sarcasm. “He is pompous and conceited, as is his son.” 

Ilmarë raised her hand and lightly touched the side of her head, feeling the beginnings of a dull ache there. Again she berated herself for not having listened to Elrond when he said they should remain upstairs. But looking at Írien, Ilmarë decided that she was glad she had not. Over the course of the evening Ilmarë had enjoyed Írien’s company and her friendly nature. She was given a sense of ease she had not felt around another woman since Melian. That in itself had been worth braving the crowds and the unpleasantness of the evening thus far. The only times Írien’s pleasant nature had faltered was when discussing her father’s duties for Ereinion. Ilmarë’s roused curiosity momentarily distracted her from the ache behind her temples.

“This Oropher and his son…you have had unpleasant dealings with them?” Ilmarë asked. 

Írien nodded. “With Oropher, yes, on one of his rare visits here to meet with Ereinion…but then Oropher is that way with all Noldor,” Írien admitted with a slight shrug. “He lived in Doriath before its ruin, a noble in the court of Elu Thingol. After Thingol’s death Oropher and a group of his men left Beleriand and traveled to the realm of the Silvan Elves… to Greenwood the Great. Though he claimed a desire to return to Elven life as it was before the Valar’s interference, Oropher did not hesitate to establish himself as king of a people who had never before had a king or royal family. Who never had rulers of any sort, for that matter.” 

She paused and looked slightly guilty as she met Ilmarë’s eyes. “I have never met his son…yet I have no doubt the great Prince Thranduil is as vain as his father,” Írien said with renewed conviction. “I know women who have met Thranduil and they endlessly carry on about how handsome and charming he is. No male can have women fawn over him in that fashion and not be conceited to a fault. And he calls himself Prince, which proves to me that he is no different than Oropher.” 

Ilmarë had been about to express surprise at the fact that Oropher had known Thingol but caught herself before she spoke realizing it would seem odd for her to speak of Thingol in a familiar fashion. “Írien, it is not fair that you should dislike someone so intensely whom you have never even met,” Ilmarë said, thinking of the treatment she herself had received earlier that evening from Rillion and Anarríma. 

“Then I will remain eternally unfair to Thranduil for I will never meet him, though not for lack of my father trying,” Írien replied, toying with a bracelet on her wrist as she spoke. “My mother and father see Thranduil as a potential suitor for me, and despite Oropher’s dislike for those of Noldorin descent, he has apparently warmed to the idea as well. In recent months Oropher has made it a point to request that I accompany my parents on their visits to Greenwood, but I will not go.” Írien released the bracelet and shook her head in irritation as she looked at Ilmarë. “I will not be forced into a marriage to further Ereinion’s good relations with the Silvan Elves and to increase Oropher’s power by having familial ties with the Noldorin king.” 

Ilmarë turned to study Ereinion as he nodded at something Círdan was saying. She frowned and said, “Do you mean to say that your own father would force you into a loveless marriage? And that Ereinion would allow such a thing? I did not know women of these lands were forced into such arrangements.” The pressure of Írien’s hand on her arm drew Ilmarë’s attention away from Ereinion. She found Írien’s blue eyes filled with embarrassment. 

“Forgive me, Ilmarë, I should not have spoken that way of my father or Ereinion. Though my father encourages me to meet Thranduil, he would never force me… nor would Ereinion allow me to enter into a marriage that was merely for his benefit.” 

Írien bowed her head causing a mass of golden hair to fall across her shoulder and hide her face from Ilmarë. “I do not enjoy feeling as though a decision that should be mine alone is being manipulated by others – both discouraging my relationship with Círdan and encouraging me to pursue a relationship with someone I have never met. I fear I have come to view the situation in a highly cynical light. To be truthful, if there is anyone who relentlessly attempts to coerce me into meeting Thranduil it is my mother. She claims to have had a vision not long after my birth, although she will not tell me what it was she saw. Only that my meeting Thranduil is very important.” Írien sighed and said, “My mother believes that all of our fates were decided long ago in the Music of the Ainur, but I believe we each decide our own fates, for what point would there be in living a life that has already been decided for us?” 

Ilmarë placed a hand over Írien’s, still resting upon her arm, wishing she had answers to comfort her new friend, yet finding none. Ilmarë well understood the confusing nature of romance and relationships, but could offer nothing but empathy. As for the Music and Fate, Ilmarë knew from what memories she had been given that Fate was sometimes a mystery even to the Ainur. For just a moment the dull pain in her head was replaced by the sound of an unfamiliar male voice, little more than the echo of a faint memory. The words slipped out before Ilmarë could think to stop them. 

“Some of us are given a fate that is beyond our power to change…” she said in a soft voice, staring absently at the polished wooden floor. Then the pain in her head returned sharper than before causing her to close her eyes in a tight grimace as she brought her hand to her forehead. 

“Ilmarë…are you unwell?” Írien asked, tightening her hand on Ilmarë’s forearm and studying her with concern. Ilmarë nodded and Írien’s gaze went immediately to Elrond, who gestured in irritation as he debated a point with one of the visiting Elves. “Here, let me help you sit and then I will fetch Elrond…” 

“No…no, I am fine,” Ilmarë said, but did not open her eyes. A heavy weariness filled her, weighting her limbs and bringing a sudden longing for sleep. Though she was becoming more accustomed to it, this Mortal body and its weaknesses still caught her off guard at times. Ilmarë waited a few moments, then sighed and said, “I am just a bit tired; attending this party has been more wearing than I anticipated. Elrond said…”

“…Elrond said that you should remain upstairs this evening, but you would not listen.” The sound of Elrond’s deep voice as he approached them brought Ilmarë’s head up. He reached Ilmarë and took her hand, watching her closely. 

“Elrond…I am sorry, I did not mean for you to leave your responsibilities,” Ilmarë said and frowned. “You do not have to abandon your duties to Ereinion for me…” 

He glanced over his shoulder and nodded to Ereinion, who watched them with a concerned frown. “Ereinion and Círdan are perfectly capable of finishing the discussion without me. When I saw you felt unwell I took my leave of the conversation. There was nothing being said that has not been said a hundred times before. Come…we will step outside for a few moments and allow you some fresh air and then I will take you upstairs and make you some willow bark tea. That will soothe the ache in your head.” 

Ilmarë sighed and turned to Írien. “Forgive me for leaving so abruptly, Írien. I have greatly enjoyed your company this evening.” 

“And I yours,” Írien said, offering Ilmarë a warm smile. “There is no need to apologize. We shall see each other again soon. I shall make it a point to visit often while you are Ereinion’s guest.” She gave a small bow of her head and then walked to join Círdan and Ereinion. 

Ilmarë allowed Elrond to lead her away from the crowd and toward a set of doors that, when opened, led outside to a large stone patio lined with carefully trimmed hedges. The night air cleared her head, although it was cold enough that she did not protest when Elrond pulled his robe off and placed it around her shoulders. He left his arm around her shoulders as well and stood close to her. 

“I am sorry this evening was not more pleasant for you,” Elrond said, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “Elves are no different than anything else in Arda, I suppose…there are those who are agreeable and those who are not.” 

“I made Írien’s acquaintance…that made the evening pleasant, regardless of whatever else.” Ilmarë relaxed as the pain in her head began to ebb. “Elrond…you said earlier that there were other reasons for Anarríma and Rillion’s dislike for me. Will you tell me of them now?” 

Elrond sighed and looked up at the night sky. “Rillion dislikes you because of your friendship with Círdan.” He paused, then said, “Rillion is Noldorin and holds to the belief that the joining of the bodies equates to marriage. He also believes that all Elves who live in a country under Noldorin rule should follow the Noldorin beliefs…even the Silvan and Sindarin Elves who do not hold to such beliefs. He and the other Noldorin lords you saw this evening try to pressure Ereinion into making a law to force all the Elves in Lindon to abide by Noldorin rules, and to provide consequences for those who do not. Círdan defies the Noldor at every turn, which makes things difficult for Círdan because the majority of the the Noldor live in Harlindon, near to him.” 

Ilmarë did not like the thought of forcing beliefs upon others. “Would Ereinion pass this law if not for Círdan’s disagreement?” 

Elrond shook his head and said, “No…I do not believe he would. Not all the Noldor wish to do this, only a small group of Elven lords who live in Harlindon. But Ereinion attempts to deal with those Elves with some modicum of tact and polite overtures.” Elrond smiled and shrugged. “Círdan, on the other hand, does not even attempt civility with them. He does not hesitate to tell Rillion and his associates that they are arrogant and selfish.” 

Now his smile faded and Elrond searched the sky as he considered his words. “I believe Ereinion resents Círdan to a certain degree in that Círdan is free to express his opinions as he will, while Ereinion must tread a narrow line and try to please all parties. There are times when I wish that Ereinion would not try so hard to make others happy, for it is usually at his own expense. I do not think Ereinion is as happy as he leads others to believe.”

Ilmarë remained silent, thinking of Ereinion’s behavior the night before, and she had to agree with Elrond…Ereinion did his best to hide his unhappiness yet still it was there. A heavy guilt settled on Ilmarë as she thought of how her heart had leapt to hear Ereinion’s admission that she was his image of comfort brought on by the lissuin’s scent. Clearly he felt a deep friendship for her, which made the stirrings she felt for him all the more unacceptable. 

After leaving Ereinion the night before she had lain in bed next to Elrond, trying to will her body back to sleep. The power of her Maiar spirit was far greater than this mere Mortal form, so why then did she have to continually remind herself not to allow the weakness of her body override the strength of her spirit? Trapped inside this mortal shell, the strength of her spirit seemed somehow lacking…confined…as though it had been sealed up within the layers of flesh in which it was now bound. 

_The flesh is a powerful thing, more powerful than I could have ever imagined…_ Ilmarë thought to herself as she studied the night sky as well, and this power was no doubt the cause of her inappropriate attraction to Ereinion. He would be shocked and offended if he knew, as would Elrond… _Elrond_ …While Ereinion affected her Mortal form, Elrond stirred both her heart and spirit, and she despaired of the confusion caused by her differing feelings for the two. And she would have to keep company with both of them continuously throughout the winter months – the very thought of it caused Ilmarë to heave a great sigh. 

_How I wish I had not given Ereinion my word that I would wait until Spring to leave for Eregion. Then Elrond and I could be alone and I would not be forced to live with this confusion…_

“Ilmarë?” 

She jumped when Elrond spoke and looked up to find him watching her expectantly. 

“Does something trouble you?” Elrond asked, studying her with a frown and tightening his arm about her shoulder.

Ilmarë looked back to the sky as she tried to think of what to say. She could not tell him what had truly been in her mind, yet despite Ereinion’s admonitions that she must learn to be untruthful when necessary, she could not bring herself to directly lie to Elrond. Distraction would be preferable. Seeing the glittering points of light above them, Ilmarë pointed up. 

“Look there, Elrond…do you see that?” 

He followed the line of her finger and studied the stars for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. It is the grouping of stars we Elves call Menelmacar. I believe Mortals call it The Hunter.” 

“Do you see the star there?” She moved her finger slightly. “Just to the left of the row of three?” Elrond leaned his head closer to hers and followed the line of her finger again, then nodded. “That star is mine,” she said. 

“Yours?” Elrond pulled back a little and looked down at her. “What do you mean?” 

“Varda lit that star for me the morning I left Valinor,” Ilmarë said, a forlorn ache now replacing her confusion. “When its light dims I will know that my time here has ended and the Valar have called me home.”

Elrond frowned at her, though her eyes were fixed upon the star and she did not notice. He heard the longing in her voice when she spoke the word ‘home’ and his stomach clenched with apprehension. 

“Do you miss Valinor so much?” he asked, immediately giving a slight shake of his head. “Of course you do…after living in such perfection, the lands of Middle-earth must seem very lacking.”

“Valinor is not so perfect a place,” Ilmarë said, thinking of the consuming pain and loneliness from her dream. Then the faces of Melian, Thingol, Varda and Manwe replaced those thoughts, “…yet I do miss it. On my journey here the thought of seeing these new lands and new people excited me. Now that excitement wanes in the face of the toils accompanying this Mortal form. I will appreciate the experience while it lasts, but I will be none too disappointed when the time comes to be shed of it and return to my assumed form.” 

Elrond studied her intently. “You have seemed so helpless since your arrival; it is easy to forget that this body is merely a shell to house your spirit.” He smiled wryly when he thought back over his words and said, “But then, is that not what purpose a body serves for us all?” His eyes searched her face once more and he said, “Is your assumed form so different than this one? So different that I would not know you?” 

Ilmarë hesitated, then said, “I do not remember the appearance of my assumed form though I know it is far different from this one. The feel of it upon my spirit was light – like a breeze or a thought. The flesh of this Mortal body hangs heavy and confines my spirit like an ill-fitting piece of clothing.” A thought came to her then. “In those first days after I awakened on the ship Linquendil said that outwardly everything about me had changed, yet when he looked into my eyes he recognized me. Perhaps it will be the same for you.” 

“Can you not wear your assumed form here, in Middle-earth?”

Ilmarë shook her head. “No, I cannot. We Ainur have no place in these lands anymore. They now belong to the Children of Ilúvatar, and if we wish to travel in the Mortal lands we must wear these forms that we may walk among you unnoticed. So Manwë has spoken, and so it must be. I cannot return to my assumed form until I leave these lands.” 

The wind brushed over Ilmarë and she felt the cold even through Elrond’s robe and his embrace. “It is not only my assumed form that I miss. It is also the lands of Aman that do not change, lands that do not grow barren and cold with winter’s chill. The lands of Eressëa are beautiful and unchanging, Elrond,” she said as she looked up at him. “You will see for yourself when you return there with me.” 

Elrond looked away from her and back to the sky. “I am not ready to make the journey to Valinor, Ilmarë. I have not tired of these lands and it is not yet my time to leave.” He looked down at Ilmarë and even in the shadows of the night she could see that his smile was forced. “But there is still time before your task here is finished. One of us could very well have had a change of heart by then.” 

Ilmarë was uncertain how to respond, but Elrond saved her that by asking a question. 

“You also knew Melian and Thingol well…do you agree with Círdan’s assessment of my resemblance to Thingol?” 

Ilmarë turned her attention to this idea, for she sensed that Elrond did not wish to discuss their ultimate departure from Middle-earth. She studied him so closely that Elrond laughed. 

“Is it so hard to tell, then? Should I offer you a different angle of inspection?” he asked, turning his head away and holding his chin up, as though allowing her a better view of his profile. 

Ilmarë smiled and shook her head. “No, I am not comparing your appearance to Thingol’s. I was pondering your personalities. I’m afraid I must disagree with Círdan. While you certainly have Thingol’s strength and presence, you bear a greater resemblance to Melian. She is strong as well, as strong as Thingol, but hers is more of a quiet strength like yours, and her wisdom is outdone only by her kindness. Yes…you are much like Melian.” 

Now it was Elrond who was at a loss for a proper response. He had asked the question only half-serious, wanting just to divert the discussion from the thought of his remaining in Middle-earth while yet another person dear to him left him alone. He had not expected such an answer from Ilmarë. That she thought him alike to his foremother Melian gave Elrond a stirring of pride. There had been many times since Elros’s departure that Elrond felt alienated, an oddity among Elves and Men for there were now no others like him in all the lands of Middle-earth. Then there were times such as these, when his distinct ancestry was a source of pride and he could see the strength of his Maiar blood as the gift it truly was.

Elrond turned to Ilmarë, taking in the beauty of her smile and her soft gray eyes before lowering his face to hers and capturing her mouth in a gentle kiss. The wind blew over them again and Elrond felt shivers run through Ilmarë’s body that were not brought on by the touch of his mouth. 

“We are going back upstairs now,” Elrond said, though his stern look was undone by the hint of a smile. “First we should make our goodnights to Ereinion and the others.” 

“It is a selfish thing, but would you mind greatly if I waited for you here? I do not wish to go back inside,” Ilmarë asked. “The thought of going back inside to that milling crowd causes the ache in my head to return.”

Elrond nodded and pulled his robe tighter around her shoulders before placing a kiss to her cheek. “You remain here then. When I return we can follow the path around the house and enter through Ereinion’s study. That will allow us to avoid any guests and return upstairs unnoticed.” 

Ilmarë watched Elrond as he stepped back into the brightly lit room and closed the patio door behind him. She walked further out onto the patio and looked out over the yard, enjoying the still quiet of the night, a dramatic difference from the noise of the crowd inside the house. She was allowed no more than a few moments of the evening’s peace before hearing the sound of a door opening and closing. Ilmarë turned to see that no one had come out of the doors behind her and she noticed that the patio wrapped around the house. She quietly followed the close-set stones of the patio, crushing the evergreen plants growing up between the stones as she walked and sniffing at the pungent side that arose from them. When she reached the corner of the house she peered cautiously around the corner, hoping it was not someone looking for conversation or company. 

The sight of Ereinion and Anarríma walking away from the house surprised Ilmarë. They walked almost to the edge of the stone patio, far away from the doors. It did not take the wisdom of a Maia for Ilmarë to realize that Ereinion and Anarríma had come outside for privacy and that she should allow them that privacy. Yet what harm could it do to listen if they were not aware she was listening? At least that reasoning seemed sound to Ilmarë as he moved closer to shadows of the house so she would not be seen. Ereinion caught Anarríma’s arm and quickly turned her toward him. Ilmarë was shocked to hear the anger in his voice. 

“What were you thinking of, showing up here tonight?” he demanded. “Did you think this a proper place to continue the disagreement we had last night?” 

_Last night_ Ilmarë thought with confusion, and then the realization hit her. _Anarríma is the friend Ereinion paid a visit to last evening._

Anarríma’s soft laugh carried across the patio. “It was not the disagreement I wished to continue,” she said suggestively, sidling closer to Ereinion and smiling up at him. “You made a mistake and I have forgiven you. Not even kings are above poor judgement at times. Later, after your guests have retired for the evening I will come to your room and you may return the favor I paid you last night.” 

Ereinion shook his head and said, “You know very well I never have such meetings here. I certainly would not have one with so many guests in my home.” 

Ilmarë watched Anarríma raise her hand and gently run her fingers through Ereinion’s hair. “I know you have not had such meetings here in the past, but it is time for that to change. It is time for many things to change.” 

Ereinion stiffened and said, “Things such as what?” 

Anarríma slid her arms around Ereinion’s neck and moved her body directly against his. “Things such as the relationship between you and I. After the events of last night I realized the importance our relationship has for me and I wish for it to be more than it has been. I believe it is time for us to consider making our union lawful and binding.” 

“Did last night cause you to realize the supposed importance of our relationship…or did it cause you to realize that you were losing something you imagined belonged to you?” Ereinion’s tone was flat and gave no indication as to what he was thinking. “And we are both aware of how much you dislike losing.” 

Anarríma did not answer, only reached up to kiss Ereinion. Ereinion did not respond at first, but when he did Ilmarë felt a strange sensation stirring in her as she watched Ereinion return the kiss. The nature of these feelings were unfamiliar to her, but they welled in her chest, making her heart pound before working their way up into her throat, constricting her breathing and choking her. Ilmarë could watch their kiss no longer and quickly turned away. Her constricted throat opened with a loud gasp and her body jerked in surprise as it collided with Elrond’s. His arms came around her and kept her from stumbling. 

“Elrond, I…I did not hear you return,” Ilmarë said breathlessly, feeling ashamed at having been caught spying. 

“Now you know Anarríma’s reason for disliking you,” Elrond said, his arms remaining around Ilmarë as he looked down at her. “She and Ereinion have known each other…intimately for many years now. She does not like Ereinion having a beautiful houseguest who garners so much of his attention.” 

Ilmarë shook her head and said, “But that is an unfounded dislike. Ereinion thinks of me as nothing more than a friend whom he has promised to help.” 

She forced herself to remain still beneath Elrond’s assessing gaze and was relieved when he finally said, “You do not need to be outside in the cold. Come, Ilmarë. I will take you upstairs and tend to you. We would not want you to become ill again.” 

Elrond put his arm around her shoulders as they walked away from the patio. He looked back over his shoulder and nodded politely, but Ilmarë was staring at the ground and did not look back. If she had, she would have seen Ereinion’s stricken look as he returned Elrond’s nod and watched them walk away before he turned and strode angrily back into the house. And she would have also seen Anarríma watching Ilmarë’s retreating form with a victorious smile before following Ereinion back inside. 

~*~

 

Irien's name and ancestry come from the HoMe volume, Morgoth's Ring. There is a reference there to Finwe having three daughters as well as two sons, and Irien was a discarded name for the daughter, Lalwen. Many thanks to Jillian for making the suggestion to use that bloodline idea.


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

_"Númenor is far lovelier than I imagined. It is most difficult to believe all this was built by Mortals."_

_Ilmarë shook her head slowly as her gaze wandered over the town below. Armenelos was indeed beautiful, particularly now, with the sunset reaching out from the West to warm the white stone buildings and walls. The eryrie atop the palace tower provided an impressive view of Númenor's royal city. Ilmarë moved closer to the edge of the rounded chamber. She rested her hand against one of the carved stone pillars supporting the domed roof as she watched the people moving in the streets below._

_"Númenor was raised from the sea by the hand of Eru and He is the source of its beauty. But, yes, these Mortals have enhanced that beauty, in their own way. More so has it been enhanced by the gifts of Valinor," Sorontur replied._

_Ilmarë glanced at the eagle on the opposite side of the stone pillar. With a rustle of feathers, he unfolded his wings and stretched them out, each tip almost touching the column on either side of him._

_"I am well pleased with my decision to visit here," Ilmarë said, and Sorontur paused his rearranging of his wings to give a loud snort as his head jerked to the side._

_"You came only because I would not allow you to refuse me as you refused Melian the many times she has asked," Sorontur said, fixing his golden eyes on Ilmarë._

_But she pointedly ignored him and kept her eyes on the city below. "Melian made one visit here alone after the island was raised and has journeyed three more times since Thingol's return. That can hardly be considered 'many'."_

_Sorontur's silent inspection of her at last coaxed a sigh from Ilmarë. "You are right, Sorontur; even those few times were far too many," Ilmarë said, remembering how happy Melian had been to see her arrive at Armenelos with Sorontur. There had been joy in Melian's eyes when she introduced Ilmarë to Elros Tar-Minyatur, the king of Númenor and the descendant of Thingol and Melian's beloved Lúthien._

_Elros was wise and good - Ilmarë could see it in his eyes and sense it in his heart –though Ilmarë sensed something more than just the nobility of a ruler. An undercurrent of strength ran through him. A sense of power, but a sense of peace as well. Ilmarë had nodded in respect to Elros, thinking that surely some of Luthien's renowned strength and power had survived through the Ages to flow in the blood of this one. He was among the Young Ones, the Children, yes…but something of the Ancient Ones lived in him as well._

_Ilmarë's shame at her selfishness now returned. She shook her head and said, "I must admit I only agreed to come with you because Melian was so upset by my refusal this time. She would not tell me why, but this visit seemed to be of great importance to her. After she and Thingol left the shame of it gnawed at me, that I would refuse my friend so simple a request."_

_The eagle looked at her curiously. "Thingol was not upset with you for refusing?"_

_"I am certain he was. Thingol is frequently upset with me for one thing or another," Ilmarë said and frowned. "I will not allow him to make decisions on my behalf and he finds that very displeasing. He treats me as though I were one of those young Elven offspring. Me…" she said with disbelief and an indignant glance at Sorontur, "…one of the Maiar. It is ludicrous for any being to believe that one of our Order would require the guidance of an Elf. His behavior is highly annoying…" Her indignant expression softened into a grudging smile "…and yet oddly comforting."_

_Amusement sparked in Sorontur's golden eyes as he said, "There are many who believe Thingol's wisdom and power to be the equal of those in our Order, Ilmarë, and I would be among them. Nevertheless, Thingol does seem condescending at times, but he means well. He does not intend to be high-handed, it is merely his nature. He ruled without equal in Middle-earth for many years and he is accustomed to saying 'do this', and it is done. Yet all good rulers have only their subjects' best interest at heart and Thingol was a good ruler…though he was not infallible."_

_Sorontur turned away from Ilmarë to look down upon the slowly darkening city. "There are none of us so powerful that we cannot be humbled by our own poor choices." He fixed his gaze on her once more and said, "There is no shame in making a mistake, Ilmarë; there is only shame in not learning from it."_

_The smile disappeared from Ilmarë's face and she held back a sigh. She did not wish to hear more words of wisdom, regardless of how well intentioned they were. Always they counseled her on what she must do…Eönwë, Varda, Thingol, Melian, Sorontur, even Estë and Irmo…all but the one being she had fully expected unwanted counsel from. Manwë offered no rebuke for her folly, no demands for Ilmarë to cast away memories still dear to her, and because of that she was now more at ease in his presence than any other. It seemed as though the chasm between them had at last been filled. She could not comprehend why the others could not leave her to her own decisions, as Manwë did._

_"I am here, am I not, Sorontur?" Ilmarë said, staring up at the stars now emerging from the darkened sky, though even that peaceful view did nothing to quell the irritation rising within her. "I rectified my mistake in refusing Melian. As for my other mistakes, I will not discuss them. They are of no concern to anyone other than myself and Ruš…" Ilmarë took a deep breath. Not even in her anger would she speak his name. "…and he who abandoned me. You are as condescending to me as Thingol and Eönwë. I have made my own decisions and I live with the consequences. Now I will speak of it no further."_

_Sorontur did not return her harsh sentiments but his silence was accusation enough. Ilmarë regretted her angry words. She knew it was not Sorontur or Thingol who deserved her anger. The one who truly deserved it was far beyond her reach now and even should she ever see him again, he would feel no guilt for her pain. Sauron dealt pain and suffering to all. Deceiving her must have been a trifling thing, simply a means to an end. The one Ilmarë had loved would never cause her such pain, but Rušurayan lived only in her memories. He was Sauron now.  The others must give her time to learn to accept that he was gone. Though she would never admit it to the others, Ilmarë herself now questioned whether or not that day would ever come. A soft rustling of feathers drew her attention._

_"Very well," Sorontur said, unfolding his wings and moving to the edge of the chamber. "We will speak of it no further." He perched between the two columns, his feet gripping the stone edge and balancing above the sheer drop from the tower to the courtyard below. "Will you join me on my evening flight?"_

_"No, I will remain here. The King's guests will be leaving soon and I will return to the palace and join Melian. Until then I will sit alone and enjoy the peace of the stars and the newborn night."_

_Sorontur shook his head in disapproval and said, "You wander in your own twilight, Ilmarë. Memories are no substitute for a life full lived."_

_With a powerful flap he rose from the tower, making a wide circle in the sky before turning west and disappearing into the night._

_Ilmarë frowned as she watched him depart. "Manwë's eagles have grown pompous if they imagine those of their own Order will cherish their words of wisdom as do the Children of Eru. Would that I had taken a form capable of flight perhaps I could make a habit of flinging parting barbs and then taking to the air."_

_Though Sorontur was not close enough to hear her words, he was not so far away that Ilmarë could not send her thoughts for him to hear. Her concentration wavered; someone was climbing the flight of stone stairs to the tower. She waited patiently as the footsteps drew closer, knowing full well who was behind her before she heard the voice._

_"Am I disturbing you?"_

_Ilmarë turned and nodded her head respectfully. "No, you are not, Tar-Minyatur. I am honored by your presence."_

_He gave a slight bow as he returned the nod. "As am I by yours. Please, I have told you before, you may call me Elros. You need only refer to me as Tar-Minyatur in formal, public situations, and as you do not attend those, there is no reason to use my title."_

_"I must apologize again for my absence," Ilmarë said, looking at Elros as he came to stand next to her. "I would have been pleased to attend and Melian and Thingol were sorely upset that they could not join you either. Not being able to become acquainted with your sibling was a great sorrow to them both. But it is not allowed. We of Valinor are not allowed to have contact with those of Middle-earth. The Valar fear the potential for interference and so have forbidden it."_

_"I understand, Ilmarë. Melian explained this to me long ago, upon our first meeting in the early days of Númenor, when the travelers from Middle-earth were far more numerous than they are now. Those visits are now extremely rare. But this was a special occasion." Elros watched a coach enter the courtyard below and stop before the wide marble steps of the palace. "I had expected my guests to leave a week ago, well before Melian and Thingol's arrival. Yet I was not disappointed when they decided to extend their stay. As I said, this was an occasion of great importance to me."_

_Far below in the courtyard, the large doors of the palace opened and two Elves emerged. Upon closer inspection Ilmarë realized only one was an Elf and the other was something else. A small crowd of people followed them and among them Ilmarë recognized Elros's sons and their families. The group remained at the top of the stairs as the two slowly continued down the marble steps to the waiting coach. One of the departing guests had silver hair that gleamed even in the twilight, and the shine of it caught Ilmarë's attention._

_"That one, with the silver hair…he is kin to Thingol?" Ilmarë asked, remembering Thingol speaking with pride of the silver hair seen only in those of his family._

_"Yes. That is Círdan, son of Thingol's brother and Lord of the Grey Havens," Elros replied. "It was his ship that brought my brother to Númenor."_

_"I have heard tell of Círdan's unsurpassed skills as a shipwright - on more than one occasion." Ilmarë added and smiled. "His father and cousin are quite proud of him, and he is well thought of among the Ainur."  She focused on the second figure and asked, "Forgive me, but would you tell me again your brother's name?"_

_"Elrond. They call him Elrond Peredhel, the Half-elven. He is the counselor to the High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth."_

_Ilmarë studied the long dark hair, the grey eyes, and the distinctive physical features of the Half-elven. "Remarkable. I can discern no difference between the two of you…" She paused and frowned._

_Elros turned to her and asked, "What is it?"_

_Ilmarë watched the two figures continue down the stairs. "I was mistaken. There is no discernible physical difference, yet the two of you are not the same. There is power in him, but it is not focused. Not as it is in you. It is as though there were something unfulfilled in him."_

_Elros nodded and looked back down at the two figures climbing into the coach, then his gaze turned toward the city._

_"Does this city look familiar to you? Its design was based on that of another city, one that was destroyed many years ago."_

_Ilmarë studied the city now shrouded by the gathering dusk. Something about it had seemed familiar to her upon first flying over it with Sorontur, but she had not given it any thought since. The city rose up from the ground like a mountain, each level circled by a wall of white stone and each wall entered through a gate. Each gate was of differing make: the first of carved wood studded with iron nails, the second a slab of solid gray stone, graven bronze was the third, the fourth of iron, traced with shapes of many trees. The fifth was carved of marble as white as the city itself, and ornamented with a silver moon, the White Tree and flowers made of pearls. The Tree of the Sun graced the sixth gate, a gate of gold, and the seventh gate was polished steel, gleaming in the sun like molten starlight. The levels between each gate were wide and filled with many houses and trees, but the uppermost level was by far the widest and contained the grandest homes. Just inside the Gate of Steel sat a stately fountain and in its spreading circle of silver water was reflected the tall white tower rising from the center of the palace, on which Ilmarë and Elros now stood._

_"Gondolin," Ilmarë said absently as she looked down at the city, "the Hidden City of the Elves in Middle-earth. It is as Tuor described Gondolin. You created this city in its image."_

_"Tuor told you of it?"_

_Ilmarë heard the wistful tone in Elros's voice and smiled at him. For a moment she had forgotten she was speaking to Tuor's grandson._

_"Yes, many years ago, after he first arrived in Valinor. He was the only Mortal I had ever seen until I came here to Númenor. He spoke of Gondolin as one speaks of something dear to them that has been lost forever."_

_"Yes, it was his home for many years. That is why I built Armenelos in the image of Gondolin. In honor of Tuor and Turgon, my ancestors."_

_Elros sighed as he watched the coach driving away from the palace. "My brother and I are like Gondolin and Armenelos…alike to the eye, but the spirit that fills us and guides us is very different. Gondolin was an Elven city, built by the Elves and filled with their energy, their lives. Armenelos is a Mortal city, we Mortals built it and each of us will add to it what we can before our time here ends. What time we Mortals have is limited, therefore we are driven by the need to do what we can in the life allowed to us. Elves see this as impulsive, even reckless or foolhardy, for they may take centuries to make a decision and centuries more to act on it, and still have untold ages ahead of them. They perceive time differently than Mortals do, and in turn, we tend to view them as indecisive or sluggish. They cannot understand why we do not enjoy time more fully and we do not understand why they waste time so needlessly. Do you understand what I am trying to say?"_

_Ilmarë turned and looked at him. "Yes. You and your brother are physically the same, but within each of you is a different spirit. Was the difference always apparent?"_

_"To me it was. I believe it was to Elrond as well, though he would never acknowledge it. He believes I abandoned him by choosing death. He does not understand that even if my body did not die, my spirit would. I would be no happier with an Elven fate than he would be with a Mortal fate. No matter how I explain it to him, still he does not understand my decision."_

_Elros sighed again and said, "But that is also part of his Elven nature. Pain and unhappiness are not things he handles well. Elves have difficulty letting go of their pain and the past and moving on to the future. They prefer to live in a past they cannot change in place of a future yet to be chosen.  Mortals must learn to accept pain and unhappiness and move on, for if we did not it would waste the whole of our lives. I hope that, given enough time, Elrond will let go of his pain and find joy in life. I had hoped I would live to see it during my lifetime, but it was not meant to be."_

_"It is still possible, Elros. Do not give up hope."_

_Elros continued to watch the departing coach as it disappeared into the night. "No, Ilmarë, it is not. The path of my life has nearly reached its end. Tonight was the last time I shall see my brother until the prophecies are fulfilled and Arda is remade."_

_Ilmarë could not find the proper words with which to respond. Now she understood why this trip to Númenor had been so important to Melian. Ilmarë had never known a Mortal before who had not been granted the life of the Eldar. To know that the being standing before her would soon be gone from this world to an unknown place gave her pause. She knew well the limitless space and time that existed beyond the confines of Arda, but the dwelling place of Mortal souls was unknown even to the Ainur._

_"Are you not frightened?" she asked._

_"No, I am not," Elros said, turning his eyes away from the carriage on the road to look up at the night sky. "There was a time when it frightened me. When I was young and the end still so far away, when I still had so much in my life yet to do. But now I am ready. My wife has gone on years before me and without her there is an emptiness that cannot be filled. I have watched my children grow into adulthood and bear families of their own. I have watched Númenor become a beautiful land and a kingdom I may pass on to my children and my people. I have lived a long and happy life and now I am weary. It is my time."_

_Ilmarë had not noticed before the touches of white in Elros's dark hair or the lines of age creasing the skin around his mouth and eyes, but now she saw them clearly. Just as she sensed the tired yet peaceful state of mind emanating from him. In that moment she envied him, envied his freedom to be shed of this world and journey to a place of rest. The time stretching out before her now seemed unbearably long._

_"Do you wish to know what I spoke of with my brother in these last days with him?"_

_Ilmarë would have said no, that she did not wish to intrude on his privacy, but Elros did not wait for an answer._

_"I told him that a life, no matter how long or short, was wasted on regret and unhappiness. That the heart is like a vessel – if it is closed when empty it will always remain so. Only by opening it again will it ever be filled." Elros met her eyes and one corner of his mouth raised in a half-grin. "Do you not agree, Ilmarë?"_

_Ilmarë saw the challenge in his eyes and knew those words had been meant for her as well. She wanted to become indignant, as she usually did when others offered their opinions on her choices, but she found it difficult to muster any irritation. She could not say exactly why:  perhaps it was the way they were spoken, or the kind concern in his voice, or possibly that there was no lecture or accusation to accompany his plainly spoken words. Whatever the reason, Ilmarë found it hard to dismiss Elros's philosophy._

_"I do agree," she said and gave a small shake of her head. "I believe I have sorely underestimated the wisdom of your kind."_

_"I am not so wise, Ilmarë," Elros said and the smile left him as he looked again at the departing carriage, now small and distant. "If I were then I would have found a way to ease my brother's pain."_

_Again, Ilmarë had no response. She knew she had no words of comfort that would take the pain from Elros's eyes when he thought of his brother's unhappiness. Ilmarë would have been irritated at his brother's obstinacy were it not for the fact that she had brought the same unhappiness to those who loved her. There had been enough pain, she decided as she looked out over the city of Armenelos. She would not allow her mistakes to bring any more sorrow to those who cared for her. Once again, she thought of Elros and his choice, and of what a heavy burden that decision must have been for both he and his brother._

_"Do you ever regret your choice? Regret that you did not choose the life of the Eldar?"_

_"I will not lie and say I have not, for I have doubted that decision at times. But I was drawn to this path and knew that however painful, it was the one that I must walk. There are those who may make their own fate, Ilmarë, but some of us are given a fate that is beyond our power to change."_

_A wind blew in from the sea, a cold wind that pierced Ilmarë's skin and chilled her, making her cross her arms over her chest in an effort to warm herself. She looked to Elros but he was gone. She was alone, with only the embrace of the cold wind wrapping around her…_

Ilmarë sat up in bed and looked around. The doors to her bedroom balcony stood wide open and a stout woman stood in the doorway, her full cheeks ruddy from the frigid air blowing into the room.   

"Haleth, what are you doing?" 

Haleth reached for the doors and pulled them shut, smiling at Ilmarë. "Watching the snow, Miss Ilmarë. Probably be the last we'll see this season. Just yesterday morning I noticed some crocus pokin' their green fingers up through the snow. Spring's a-comin'. It'll only be a few weeks now, sure as the mornin'." 

"Then I shall be leaving soon," Ilmarë said, hugging the blankets tightly around her as she sat up in bed. 

Haleth went to the wardrobe and pulled a dress of its hanger. "You mean your trip to the south? Oh and I bet you're excited about that." She came to the bed and laid the dress out across the foot of it, clucking when she saw Ilmarë's distant stare. "I say, child, it's only a short visit and you'll get to see some pretty country along the way. You've a look on your face like it's the end of the world. Come on now and get dressed. Your breakfast is waitin'."

Ilmarë was still saddened by the dream of Elros, now long since dead. She was saddened for Elrond and the thought of his having carried his pain alone for so many years. Her first thought was to go and find him and tell him of the dream but Elrond had been strangely distant the past few weeks and almost seemed to be avoiding her. She would not have told him regardless, because then she would have to tell him about the other dreams she had in the past months, and the tale of her ill-fated love for Sauron would come to light. No, that would not be acceptable. Only Ereinion knew of her dreams and that was through no choice of Ilmarë's. 

As Ilmarë watched the Mortal woman hurry off toward the door a sudden thought struck her. 

"Haleth," Ilmarë called, hurriedly getting out of bed and sticking her feet in her house slippers as she grabbed her dressing robe from the bedside chair, "how old are you?" 

Haleth gave a little laugh as she glanced over her shoulder at Ilmarë. "That's not a fit question to be asking a woman. I'll just say that I'm old enough. Older than you, by any means." 

Haleth's assumption that she was so much older than Ilmarë was usually amusing but Ilmarë was more concerned with other things. "You are not close to reaching the end of the usual Mortal lifetime, are you?" she asked, coming to stand behind Haleth as she reached the door. 

"Goodness but you do ask some odd questions, Miss Ilmarë." Haleth stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "I'm gettin' on in years but I've still got a good many left ahead of me, if that's what you're meanin'. Why are you on about such things?" 

Ilmarë shook her head. "Just a dream, Haleth, one that did not leave me even after I had awakened." 

Haleth patted Ilmarë's arm. "I see now – one of those that sticks in your head and gives you a bad feeling. Best thing for those is to go about your business as usual. That chases away what's left of a bad dream." 

"Haleth," Ilmarë said as Haleth opened the door. "I…thank you. For all that you have done for me. You have done me a great many kindnesses and I shall always be thankful to you." 

Haleth made a dismissive noise and waved her hand, but she smiled, showing that the gratitude pleased her. "Go on with you. You'd best get dressed now and hurry downstairs." 

Ilmarë let out a sigh as the door closed behind Haleth. She could only hope that she would return to Valinor before old age claimed the Mortal friends she had made. That was something she did not care to see and she more clearly understood Melian's desire to leave Middle-earth and not return. Though death seemed to be a release to those who were ready, it appeared to be a very unpleasant experience for those left behind. 

Walking to the balcony doors, Ilmarë opened them and stepped outside. Though she despised the cold, she found the snow to be beautiful, like a glittering white blanket spread across the lands, hiding the unattractiveness of the dead landscape and making the world seem untouched. She pulled her dressing robe tighter around her and looked down from the balcony at the already snow-covered lands. Even the sad skeletons of the leafless trees seemed graceful wearing their snowy mantles. Ilmarë sighed and the mist of her breath hung in the air like a thin cloud for a moment then quickly disappeared. She thought of Taniquetil and its snow covered peaks and the longing for home filled her again. 

As she turned to go back into the house she stepped into a deep patch of snow, the icy cold snow spilling over the top of her foot and into her slipper. She let out a yelp and stepped back too quickly and her other foot landed upon a spot of snow that had frozen to a smooth surface. In the blink of an eye she was on her back, staring up at the gray sky and the white flakes drifting down toward her while she winced at the pain starting in her thigh and making its way up her back. She closed her eyes and let out a low, frustrated growl, irritated at herself and this ungainly body. 

She heard the door to her bedroom open and a voice call her name. When she opened her eyes Ereinion stood over her. 

"Are you hurt?" he asked. 

She sighed and shook her head, hearing the snow crunch beneath her as she did. When he saw she was not injured, Ereinion did his best not to smile, but his best was a very poor effort indeed. 

"Did you fall again?" 

Ilmarë glared at him and started to push herself up from the floor of the balcony. "No, I preferred the view from down here. Of course I fell."

"Let me help you up," Ereinion said, taking her arm and pulling her to her feet. He held onto her arm as he helped her inside and closed the door. His smile continued to grow wider as he brushed the snow from her hair and back. 

"Do you find my ungainliness so amusing, Ereinion?" Ilmarë asked as she rubbed her cold, sore backside. 

"No, it is not that. Seeing you lying there reminded me of something my mother used to tell my sister when she was very young and mooning over some Elf she imagined herself to be in love with. 'Foolish girls end up on their backs', my mother would tell her, although I do not believe she was speaking of taking a spill on the ice." 

He laughed and Ilmarë forgot her irritation and smiled. "I was not aware you had a sister. Does she live in Lindon?" 

Ereinion's face grew serious and he looked away and cleared his throat. "No. She has passed to the Halls of Mandos. Orcs killed her after Nargothrond was destroyed. The men of the forests found her body and buried her, and the hill there bore her name until Beleriand was sunk into the sea." 

"Ereinion, forgive me. I did not know." Ilmarë touched his arm. 

He shook his head and said, "No, no. You do not have to apologize. The thought of her suffering does bother me, but I have no doubt she was re-embodied after she reached Mandos. I will see her again one day, when I go to Valinor." 

Ilmarë nodded and distractedly ran her hand along her backside and thigh again. 

"Are you certain you are not hurt, Ilmarë?" 

"No, I am fine. Just a little sore." 

"You should have Elrond take a look at that." 

Ilmarë sighed. "I do not think that is a good idea. He has not been too keen on my company these past few weeks. Have you not noticed his penchant for finding reasons why he must travel to Harlindon and stay with Círdan?" Ereinion's avoidant gaze told her that he had noticed. "He is probably leaving again today, is he not?" 

Ereinion reluctantly looked at her and nodded. "Yes… but he has not left yet," he quickly added. "I left him just a moment ago in the library. If you hurry you can still catch him." 

Ilmarë shook her head and Ereinion said, "You should go to him and just ask him what is the matter. I am certain there is a good reason for his avoidance of you. He would not intentionally cause you hurt. You know that." 

"Yes, I do. Very well, I will ask him. Thank you, Ereinion." 

"I will see you downstairs," he said and started to turn away. 

"Wait, Ereinion," Ilmarë said, putting her hand on his arm to stop him, "did you have a reason for coming to find me?" 

"I know you had another dream last night. I wanted to make certain you were all right." 

"I am, but thank you for being concerned." 

Impulsively, Ilmarë reached up and placed a kiss on Ereinion's cheek. She had kissed his cheek before but this time she allowed her mouth to linger for a moment, thinking how much she enjoyed breathing in his scent and feeling his skin beneath her lips. She caught herself and moved back with an awkward smile and a burning heat rose in her face when she saw Ereinion's flustered expression. 

"You are welcome, Ilmarë" he said, not meeting her gaze. "You should hurry before Elrond leaves." 

He hurried out of the room and when the door was closed, Ilmarë pulled of the wet dressing robe and flung it to the floor, cursing herself under her breath as she did. 

What is wrong with me? I have embarrassed Ereinion with my impropriety. I am overstepping the bounds of our friendship and I cannot allow that.  

She knew Ereinion had kept up his visits to Anarríma, for there were times when he would journey to Harlindon and stay away overnight, though not as often as Elrond did. But keeping her impulses in check had been a challenge during the past month. At times she would feel the needs of her body rise within her, like wild things scrambling to escape, and it was all she could do to contain them. Maintaining control was growing more and more difficult, and the voice she had begun to hear within her thoughts had not helped. 

At first, Ilmarë thought it was her imagination and had asked Adanel if she ever heard anything of the sort in her own head, to which Adanel had replied yes. Her conscious spoke to her at times, the voice of reason that helped make decisions or remind one when they were doing wrong. Ilmarë just assumed that her Mortal form had come equipped with this conscious as well, but it was a source of unrest for her. Although Adanel had said that having a conscious could be a tremendous burden at times. Ilmarë felt certain that must be true. 

But now was not the time for pondering. She grabbed her dress from the bed and hurried into the washroom to ready herself.  Elrond would give the reason for his avoidance of her, Ilmarë decided, even if she had to force it from him. 

                                                                ~*~


	22. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll have to forgive the lack of polish on this and future chapters. If I keep editing the chapters over and over like I usually do, I'll never get this story finished, so I'm just going to write the chapters and move on. I'll go back over them for spelling and typos, but other than that it's straight from my head and onto the paper, as it were. I apologize in advance for the diminishing quality from here on out, but if I'm ever going to get this damn monster story finished I'd best get a move on. :-D 

Elrond placed the book in his satchel and had returned to the bookcase to find another when he heard the tapping on his library door. 

"Come in," he called, reaching up to a high shelf to retrieve the book he sought.  Tension filled his body when he sensed who it was coming through the door.  He turned and walked back to the desk to place the book with the others in the satchel, all the while very careful not to look at his visitor. "Ilmarë, I did not think you would be finished with breakfast so soon." 

"I have not been to breakfast," Ilmarë said, feeling very uncertain as she walked into the library. "I wanted to come see you first. You are leaving again?"

"Yes, but only for a few days. There are some things I need to do for Círdan." 

"Oh," she said, her resolve deserting her upon seeing his distant behavior again. "Then I will not keep you." 

Her turning to leave at last caused him to look up and he frowned, leaving the desk and walking to her. "Ilmarë…" he said and then noticed her slightly favoring one leg. "Is something wrong?" 

Ilmarë shook her head. "It is nothing. I slipped and fell." 

"Let me have a look at it," Elrond said, but Ilmarë did not stop. 

"Really, there is no need, it is only a little sore. My pride suffered the worst of the injuries." She offered him a small smile but it was forced. "It is no cause for concern."

"Ilmarë," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, "anything that pains you is my concern. Come, sit down and let me see." 

She nodded and allowed him to lead her to a small sofa nearby.  As she sat, Ilmarë noticed a stack of books on the small tablet next to the sofa. "Were you reading last night, Elrond?" 

"Yes," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Some writings I had been intending to read for some time." 

Ilmarë did not answer for she was thinking of her own evening, the majority of it spent alone until Ereinion came looking for her and asked her up to his study for drinks and conversation. While she had appreciated his thoughtfulness, she felt as though she were imposing on Ereinion. No doubt he would rather have spent the evening in Harlindon with Anarríma. 

Elrond knelt before Ilmarë, picking up her foot and lifting the hem of her dress just far enough to expose the ankle. 

"Where does it hurt? In your ankle?" he asked, inspecting her ankle carefully. 

"Neither," Ilmarë said and put her hand on her upper thigh. "It is here," she ran her hand up to her hip, "and here." 

Elrond's hands on her foot stilled. Though his head was bent, Ilmarë saw his shoulders become stiff and tense. He took hold of the hem of her dress again, hesitating a moment before quickly moving the fabric of her dress aside to allow him a view of her upper leg. Her breath caught when he ran his fingers over the skin of her thigh. After probing her leg lightly he then laid his hand flat against her skin, running it slowly up to the curve of her hip. A quick, surprised breath escaped her when his fingers made contact with the bare, sensitive skin there and she felt his grip tighten in response. 

"You will be fine, perhaps a slight bruise…" Elrond muttered as he tried to jerk his hand away but Ilmarë's hand shot down and held his, keeping it against her skin. 

"Do you not enjoy touching me now? Is that why you avoid me?"  

He raised his head to look at her, frowning as he did. "No, Ilmarë, that is not why. I cannot touch you this way…" 

He tried to pull his hand away again but it was such a half-hearted attempt that Ilmarë had no trouble holding it fast. She felt the need rising in her again, some uncontrollable thing that made her pulse quicken and her head swim. 

"Yes…yes, you can. I want you to touch me this way…please…" 

Elrond's breathing was heavy enough now that she could hear it, could see the rise and fall of his chest. Ilmarë ran her hand along his cheek and he closed his eyes, letting his cheek rest against her palm. She leaned forward until her face was close to his and she pressed a light kiss to his lips. 

"Elrond…please…" she whispered and kissed him again, this time garnering a response both immediate and exhilarating. 

He rose to his knees and forced her back against the sofa, his hand tightening on her hip, holding her in place as he moved his body between her legs. He kissed her fiercely, groaning against her mouth in what sounded like a mixture of pleasure and frustration. In her haze of ecstasy it seemed to Ilmarë that his mouth was everywhere, on her mouth, her face, her neck – his tongue taking a frantic path along her skin. She closed her eyes and let his hands roam where they would, almost crying out when one grasped her breast, his thumb running over the rigid tip as his tongue filled her mouth again. The hand on her hip pulled her toward him, moving her down on the sofa until their bodies met. Even through the fabric of their clothing, Ilmarë felt his hard length as he moved his body against hers. His rhythmic movements rocked her hips, making her feel as though all the desire and need would burst from her in a violent eruption if it were not sated immediately. When his mouth released hers to travel down her neck again, Ilmarë whispered against his ear. 

"Yes, Elrond…yes…now, please…please…" 

And then he was gone. Ilmarë opened her eyes and sat up, breathing heavily and watching in confusion as Elrond stalked across the room. He stopped when he reached his desk, his hands curling around the edge of the wood and his head dropping forward as he drew in deep, heaving breaths. Ilmarë stood and followed him. 

When she reached him she rested a hand on his shoulder and asked, "What is it? Are you all right?" 

Elrond jerked his shoulder back, knocking her hand away and he bit out, "Do not touch me, Ilmarë. Please, just leave." 

She backed away from him and tears filled in her eyes.  As she stared at him she heard the faint, whispering voice in her head again. _He never loved you. He merely desired you but even that is gone. Now he longs only to be rid of you._   She listened, her thwarted desire changing from disbelief, to sadness, and finally to a rage welling up from her chest and into her throat, almost choking her. 

"I will leave," she managed to say, "I will leave and I will never touch you again." 

Elrond turned around as she moved toward the door, shocked by the anger in her voice. "Ilmarë, wait. I am sorry, I should not have been so harsh." He caught her by the shoulder and tried to turn her to face him but Ilmarë pulled away. 

"Take your hands off me," she snapped. "You wish to be rid of me and so you shall. I have listened to your lies long enough and I will not be made a fool of by you." 

"Ilmarë, what are you saying?" Elrond frowned and studied her with worry. "You are making no sense. I have never lied to you and I have never wished to be rid of you."

_He lies even now…_ the voice whispered, stoking her anger even higher. "Then why do you avoid my company? Why do you never touch me or just spend time in my company?" 

"It has nothing to do with how I feel about you." He looked down for a moment, then raised his eyes again. "It is because I am weak and I have been ashamed to admit it. I have not the will to be near you and not touch you. I am unable to control my desire for you." 

"And where is the wrong in that?" she demanded, his admission doing nothing to curb her anger. If anything it enraged her even more. 

"We cannot be intimate until things are decided between us. You know that." He paused as though reluctant to speak, then said, "Perhaps it is best if we wait until your task is finished here. Then you can return to Valinor and ask permission for us to be wed." 

"Wait until I return to Valinor?" Ilmarë said, incredulous. 

_He cares nothing for your pain came the voice his self-righteous morals and ethics mean more to him than you do…_

"You would leave me frustrated and unhappy for so long merely to satisfy your own self-righteous sense of ethics? So you can cling to laws you are not even certain you wish to hold to?" Her nose curled up and she shook her head. "You have lied to me. You said my pain was of concern to you, but my pain means nothing. You think only of yourself." 

"Ilmarë, that is unfair. Once we leave for Eregion and have time alone together, this will be easier to sort out…" Elrond tried to reach for her again but Ilmarë backed away from him until her back met with one of the bookcases. 

_You do not need him. You can go alone._

"You are not going to Eregion with me," she said, pointing a finger at him. "I will ask Círdan to arrange for my travel to Eregion and I can stay in the city alone. I do not want or need your company." 

"You do not mean that. Please, just calm down and we can discuss this…" 

_Look at what he did to his own brother. Do you think he will treat you any differently?_

"What is there to discuss?" Ilmarë's voice rose along with her anger. "You have always been selfish, Elrond, always been blind to the pain you cause others. You caused your brother pain almost all his life and yet you felt no guilt, no concern for his happiness. You cared only for yourself. He died with that pain because you were too selfish to ease it for him." 

"How did you…" Elrond began, but Ilmarë had worked herself into a full fury. 

"Elros was right about you. Your heart is empty and hollow, and sealed so tightly that nothing will penetrate it."

"That is enough, Ilmarë. I have heard enough." Elrond was angered now and raised his voice to be heard above Ilmarë's tirade. "Keep silent until you have regained control of yourself.." 

_He is upset because your words frighten him. The truth frightens him._

"You do not wish to hear it because it is the truth." 

Elrond shook his head and glared at her. "You are not yourself." 

"If the truth does not frighten you then I would hear you speak it. I was foolish enough to entertain the notion that I loved you. Tell me, Elrond, do you feel the same? Is there even a possibility of it in your heart?" 

He shook his head and looked away from her, frowning as he stared at the wall. He shook his head a few more times but said nothing. 

_Do you see now?_ whispered the voice in her head, _he cannot say it because he does not love you. All this time he has misled you with false promises…_

"Liar!" Ilmarë cried, snatching up an empty vase from the bookcase behind her and flinging it at Elrond as hard as she could. He ducked aside and the vase flew past him, and Ilmarë felt an inexplicable surge of satisfaction as it hit the far wall, the glass shattering and the pieces falling to the wooden floor in a rain of noise. But the satisfaction quickly drained out of her and she sobbed as she ran toward the door. 

"I never want to lay eyes upon you again, Elrond. Never," Ilmarë choked out as she flung open the door and ran into the hallway. 

She heard Elrond call out her name, but she did not stop. She ran down the hallway until she reached the stairs. Between her tears and her hurried flight, she nearly lost her balance going down the stairs before steady arms wrapped around her. 

"What is wrong?" Ereinion asked, trying to look down at Ilmarë but she kept her face pressed against his chest. "Ilmarë? I was leaving the house when I heard you shouting." 

She heard Elrond's footsteps approaching the stairs and she pulled away from Ereinion and said, "I do not wish to speak to Elrond. Please take me away from here." 

He kept his arm around her as she all but ran down the remaining stairs. "There is a carriage out front. Wait there for me. I will be out in a moment." 

Ereinion watched Ilmarë as she ran out the front door without looking back, then he turned to Elrond who was halfway down the stairs. Ereinion put out his hand and stopped Elrond as he tried to hurry past. 

"What happened, Elrond?"  

Elrond shook his head and frowned. "I do not know. I have never seen her behave in this manner, Ereinion." 

"Did you do something to anger her?" 

"I did, but not to the state she was in. She was not herself." Elrond stepped past Ereinion and said, "Let me go to her. I…" 

Ereinion's hand stopped Elrond again. "I do not believe that would be wise. I will take her away for a time, allow her to calm down. When she returns, if she wishes, she will speak to you." 

Ereinion sensed that Elrond wished to say something, but he did not. Only studied Ereinion's face intently and frowned. 

Finally he said, "Look after her, Ereinion. I will be here waiting when you return."

"I thought you were leaving for Harlindon this morning." 

"No, I will take no more trips to Harlindon," Elrond said, turning to walk back up the stairs. "I will remain here, as I should have done all along." 

Ereinion turned and walked out the front door, speaking briefly to the driver sitting atop the waiting carriage before stepping up into the carriage himself. Ilmarë was already sitting inside, staring out the window. Her tears had stopped but she did not look at Ereinion as he sat down beside her. 

"Ilmarë, tell me what is the matter," Ereinion said as the carriage began to move, the horses hooves beating a rhythmic pace against the cobblestone drive. 

"I do not know," she said softly, still not meeting his eyes. "I became angered with Elrond for his avoidance of me and my anger overwhelmed me. I had no control over it." She touched a hand to her temple. "I hear a voice in my head…here…saying awful things…" 

Her voice trailed off and Ereinion pondered her words as she continued to stare out the window at the passing streets of Forlindon. 

"Ilmarë, it is possible that this Mortal body imparts weaknesses upon you which you have not considered." 

She turned away from the window and asked, "What do mean?" 

He shrugged and said, "I have known many fine Mortals and many have been dear friends to me, but they have a tendency to be somewhat…impulsive. At times, their emotions are stronger than their judgment and they behave irrationally. We Elves are like this when we are younger, but over time we gain a firmer hold over our emotions. Mortals are not allowed enough time to do this, therefore their emotions often overpower them." 

"But this voice, it sounds so real. As though it were a part of me, coming from within my own thoughts. Yet at the same time it seems foreign, trying to make me do things I otherwise would not." She shook her head and looked back out the window. "Oh, I am making no sense…" 

Ereinion took one of her hands from her lap and held it. "You are making sense. You are upset. I would imagine that such strong emotions could seem like an actual presence in your mind. You must learn not to let them get the better of you." 

"Ereinion," she said, looking at him again, "I said such terrible things to Elrond. Awful things. He will never forgive me…" 

"He will forgive you." Ereinion squeezed her hand and offered her a smile. "He loves you. How could he not forgive you?" 

Ilmarë's chin trembled and she said, "He does not love me." 

"How do you know?" 

"Because I asked him." 

She started to rest her head on Ereinion's shoulder as she had done in the past, but then thought better of it, not wanting to make him feel awkward with her outward displays of affection. Ereinion saw her hesitation and moved closer to her, putting his arm around her and guiding her head to his shoulder. 

"Think no more on it, Ilmarë. I am taking you to Írien. You may stay with her for the time being. I am sure the situation will look better once you are able to reflect upon all that has happened." 

Ilmarë was relieved that she would not be returning to the mansion to face Elrond. How he must hate her now, after the horrible things she said to him. She looked out the window again and noticed the snow had stopped falling and the sun was out, shining down upon the white city. She hoped Haleth was correct in that the change of seasons was upon them. For Ilmarë, the spring could not come soon enough. 

~*~  

NOTES: You'll have to forgive the lack of polish on this and future chapters. If I keep editing the chapters over and over like I usually do, I'll never get this story finished, so I'm just going to write the chapters and move on. I'll go back over them for spelling and typos, but other than that it's straight from my head and onto the paper, as it were. I apologize in advance for the diminishing quality from here on out, but if I'm ever going to get this damn monster story finished I'd best get a move on. :-D 


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